This idleness
This treachery
This cannot happen
For is has spoken
Aloud
And worked its arms
Inside vices
Against terror
Wrapped around
Unspoken melodies
Yet it grew
Dirt pile
And grave dangers
Arose
From idle hands
At play
Upon the wheel.
Tag: terror
Each Quill (day 2772)
The eyes of terror struck into
A faithful servant in pain
What must be done, owner’s duty
Calmly, one cannot relent.
Each quill, each sliver,
Each painfully removed
To help a faithful friend in need
Until those eyes return to softness
Playfulness again,
A friend once more returns,
Tail wagging, trust returning,
Companion to the end.
Passing (day 2494)
I woke into a frightful terror
That lasted until noon
Two eyes of spoken yellow glowed
Terror to my soul
Then wafted into my study so soon
A fragrance of the beast
Leaving me to recollect
My passing there that noon.
Into Fire (day 2379)
Whistling to myself as I
Float on into a fire
Carry this for me a while
Rumbling as the chains do roll
An offering shall go
Love last breaths I give away
Evening cherishes mine name
Thunderstorm and rainclouds
Unearthed and saving gravity
Such lays ahead thou plan
Reighning in thy terror’s breath
Hallowed in contempt.
A Little Mouse (day 2117)
As if in the ransack of time a little mouse could foresee such a circumstance, little unbeknownst to him and his furry paws scuttling to and fro about the forest floor – roots for here and roots for there, but left in a random mess that danced like bliss – as the owl hooted loud the shakey graves below the folly could tell ten thousand stories of arching madness and screaming terror; look out look out look out my friend, I have not come to be thy penance, no, I am here to hold thy candle brighter, to make thy night much less weirder, to the side of willow river and make a dart into thy deepened hole of safety and say to thy family you love them better and listen to your little mice that complain of washing and complain of chores but lead your life as you best can for times will come and leave you better beside the river and your cavern and your pretty mice wife, hither.
Moon at Midnight – Part II (day 1976)
(part I)
I woke to complete silence
Yet my knees screamed louder the murder
When I shifted them from slumber
Half crosslegged I had fallen backwards
Into sleep that left smoke trails
Through my dreams.
My nose was hiding itself from the cold
I looked searchingly at the fire
I could feel wasn’t even hopeful.
My pack was close enough
So I knew where matches were
But kindling rested beside my axe
Yet to be shorn from its whole
So were the tea bags that would slowly ooze life
Back into my cold frame
Easily forgetting the eyes of last night’s terror.
I made it a habit not to look back
When I walked away from yesterday’s camp
You don’t need that to remember what’s already known
Like folded socks in the side of my pack
I was well kempt and had a full bottle of water
And the industrious chipmunk
Was happy to see me go
Understood by the sounds of his chatter
That followed me along a path
I was making with my compass pointing East.
My first few steps always remembered
What yesterday so easily forgot
So I stopped and untied my shoe
To clip my nails that were growing healthy
It’s much nicer to put on warm socks
Then cold and wet socks of the first light of morning
And my pack jingled merrily
As I swung it back on.
Scanning the vastness was hard to comprehend
What had alarmed me so easily
The night before,
What creatures our dark mind magically creates,
And now looking back at me was salal so thick
No ghost could sneak through
And my heart reminded my mind
To believe in thy safety one thousand times again.
Slowly my breath found it’s groove
Steadily flowing with each footstep
My packs new bumps settled itself softly
And the world began to expose itself to me
With every step a new angle
A new tree fallen sideways
A slug neatly stepped over
An unidentified toadstool
A river softly gurgling somewhere in the distance
An obstacle I’d have to traverse.
One Thousand Pieces (day 1909)
Desire fills my heart into one thousand pieces
Memories, unfurling as if eyes were closing tightly
Around minute memories and love letters.
I’ve concluded the end is near,
My hands have become wrinkled and so sore with work.
I will leave a little letter sitting open
Beside the night table
Where all of my wishes will be laid out in bullet point form
Segmenting all I wished I had made, yet un-done.
Do not tarry long where footsteps make no noise,
Wild animals will moan at your sound
And terrors of your heart shall flutter on by
As leaves in the wind make passing comments.
And my waning crescent turns towards me
To reach it’s dagger-like fingers
Deep inside my once well lit thoughts, cavernous,
And lay the sign of Hermes upon my back
To mark the gathering of one thousand pieces.
Crispy Wallows (day 1593)
Crispy wallows and snakes following ancient trails down spirals, leading only to a perfectly spherical, blood-moon-packed dirt bubble where one thousand and one perpendicular lines scarred concave smoothness, remarkably resembling an eerie odessical scene of Labyrinth, David Lynch infused simplicity and snakes. With an omnipresent light leaving no shadows, even in such depths, that echoed with every heartbeat snaking it’s way downward, downward, downward until the downward was no longer downward but stuck in a simple sphere, simply circled as if snakes and ladders were suddenly trapped in an empty crystal ball bubbling with misunderstood and toppled (read:shook) reason that inhabitants were too impatient to digest, leaving perpendicular marks in frightened terror as retraced steps traced their snaking along ancient trails back into the under-root of an atmospheric tragedy they had become familiar with and called home.
This is not Life (day 1290)
What are these breaths of terror streets?
What bringeth this indescribable blabble?
Shall it speak for all of my soul: truths,
Or shall mystery shroud over, unspoken?
Un-mystery my salad meats, for I am becometh origin.
Controlling dreams in an undecided, unclad barbaric soul.
Feeding on these terror streets.
And here I yell: “Let these snakes regain territory!”
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
I shall not feed on unsuspecting vegetation.
This is not life.
Demons (day 531)
Demons lurching and prowling at the innards tormenting
Disastrous thoughts compelling every movement
Keeping all personal compassion idle by unnecessary woes
Claws tearing away the fine layers of conscience
Robed with a hundred years of torment, tied at the waist
All without a yelp of terror
All in good time of faith does the burden remain
All for the surviving factions of purveyors
I have dreamed of this day
Written down in my books of faith
That record my weakest of thoughts
Together with my wisdom once preached
And demons; I have drawn your soured skin
Your scales with hair
Claws and beaks searching for the deepest dagger
Tentacles, wings, horns, and whipping tales
Growling teeth and pointed ears
Patiently awaiting this demise
There will be no more pain
The sins I demolish with faith
For tomorrow I shall rise
Without the gates of hell beckoning me
And peace will fall
Amongst the villains and saints
