The book will unfold with every letter you take with each step. Stars bloom and unravel before you. Eyes roam the ground in search of where you will go. Hands trace the gravel to where you have already been. The pages always a step behind. Running in the world’s oceans to escape what should have been. Never learning to swim. To explore what already is. To hope is to die. To share is to be alone. A child lost in the ashtray at the foot of God’s throne. Apathy devouring rage. Storms raging in your heart pulling passerbyers into their destructive spirals. When will it end?
Not a nightingale. Do not pretend to need a heart that can not mend. Go away.
Too self-absorbed to look at the stars. The clouds and the mysteries of the world beyond hold no interest to me, the ever vigilant observer. The child sleeps as I make my escape into myself. Lost within the void of the road. She bows her head in supplication to a creator that despises her. She knows. Because of these lips, full and lush. Cascading auburn locks that glisten with morning dew. Hips and long supple legs that tempt men to sin. Eyes that can haunt their dreams. She knows. As sure as a new generation is to be born to carry burdens of their parents and those before them. Armies will rise and fall for her, but with buried resentments and expectations within their hearts. The world is mine and I know it. If she doesn’t need it, then neither do I. Our chains reinforced by the voices within clamoring for supremacy. They know.
The concrete assembly of minds keeps the world at bay. Ceilings of glass make rationalizations in the hopes of finding a week one to pluck from the trusses. Wedding rings constrict their binds on fingers too big to hold them with ease. The moon stays silent in her judgment of us all, but surely she is smiling tonight. The rain melts down steel rails fill of her released desires and how can we help but kneel before her innocence. If only abandonment were an option and the truth were the law of the land. Fear, hold me close tonight upon your purity of purpose and song. For without you, I would be alone.
He holds his hands open, palms facing upward, arms stretched wide to either side of him at waist level. The prayers slip from his his thoughts, to his lips, but never reaches his vocal chords. With eyes gazing reverently upward at the stars that did shine, his body begins to tremble lightly starting from the tips of his fingers to the thinning grey hair on his head. A man walks by, athletic and well groomed, stopping abruptly as if just noticing the older man standing there in the middle of the vast nearly empty parking lot. “Hey, got a cigarette I can bum off ya?”, the young man asks with uncertainty lacing his voice. The older man pauses in his silent incantation which has become a daily ritual for him as natural and frequent as eating for him over the years. The only indication of acknowledgment, and annoyance, at the interruption manifested itself as a slight twitch of his right eye. This is the first time since his awakening that anyone had dared approach him while in this state.
Most people are too scared to even walk withing spitting distance of him and that fact has never chanced no matter his location. Be it a city or town in the middle of nowhere, the people there have always paid a deference usually reserved for strict authority figures. “As they should,” he mused to himself. A slight quirk of his lips at the corners of his mouth blossomed then in his own personal version of a smile. “Huh?” came the confused response from the young man standing far too close for comfort. The old man had been too engrossed in his thoughts to notice this fact. He also came to realize that he had spoken out loud without intending to. Lowering his head to stare into the young man’s eyes, muttering, “peccavi,” while doing so. Yes, he thought bitterly. Work is prayer after all and my overconfidence has overridden my caution. The Lord is testing me. Very well. The Saints did not journey unscathed.
The young man had spent the past few minutes observing the emotions play across the devotee’s face. The ones that he could discern was making him uneasy. He knew all too well the face of a fanatic and his disquiet grew stronger as the elderly man lowered his head to make eye contact. The young man, a driver just stopping through town, frowned and began to turn away. Some things just aren’t worth it, he thought.
It was at that moment when the devotee’s right hand shot out to grab the driver’s left arm in a firm grip. The driver’s surprise was short lived, but it was long enough for him to be caught by a swift blow to the temple with an industrial sized tire iron. The devotee, in a fit of rage bordering on madness, continued to pummel the driver in the head despite the deadly efficiency of the initial blow. Panting, the elderly man ambled away into the breaking twilight sun, silently questioning the length of time it took him to perform his penance. It was a large parking lot and he had plenty of time to ponder things before the public trickled in. “A Saint, indeed,” he chuckled to himself at length.
I’ve seen the forgotten end, and becoming,
of the new world,
Whereas these nights, become the epitome of a
shadowed destiny
Marked by agony, trailed by deceit, and redeemed
through destruction,
As visions guide my way to the man-made Hell
I forged within my cell
Thy carnage will ensue, the wrath I was
accursed to, and given to by subterfuge,
this blood-written oath I vow to you, by the
black vines of malice that tear within my soul,
Breathe within my carcass life so I may take again,
By extinction, eradicating the festering pustule of
wounds
by descension, I spiral down into the coals
of death
by possession, I reek of corroding steel
by obsession, I drench below your entrails
