xChasingsafetyx
11/06/07, 04:22 PM
All right...if you hate, try and give me a reason or two. it's your own opinion and i repsect that. smae thing goes with if you enjoy it...
Spokes…
AWAKEN!
The jackals bellow; the ghosts march in…
Forests of metallic black…
Maws of teeth,
Saber-like, grinding,
Twisting, clicking
Massaging each rotating limb;
The veins and lungs of the factory,
Speaking in tufts of smoke,
Rattling,
Sharp as gunfire.
Lakes of liquid hell spill out their
Fiery spit into canals,
Avalanching over onto fields of stone.
Pawns,
With pianist fingers,
Hammering fingers,
Spider fingers,
Fingers like insects...
Nurturing, laboring, calculating…
Sparkles and rust,
Metal and flesh…
Aromas of sweat and iron merging together…
Hovering…
The chimneys growl with raspy voices;
The furnaces smolder like candles.
Machines whirl and click,
Mallets clang like trumpets.
A whistle shouts out, blaring and precise.
The workers, pale-faced and lifeless,
Trot off;
Beams of skeleton-white glance in through grimy apertures…
Iron and Steam
Along creeps the casket,
Robed in rust,
Groaning like an awakened whore.
Bluish shawls, darkened
As if by chemicals,
Lick the ashen hull with foaming tongues.
They are willows dancing in a contented breeze,
Titans, draped in purplish gowns,
Rising from below the reddening horizon;
The vessel punctures them like spades through ripened earth.
Behind it a bubbling cape of white,
Gleaming as if the moon, that pale sky-hung locket,
Had dripped itself empty and
Blotted the trailing waters with pastels of ghostly-white.
Waters rise all about like mountains,
Mobile and spasmodic.
...Yet onward creeps the vessel,
A greyish obelisk seated upon tumbling waters,
Undulant mausoleums.
Wandering Upon The Axis
The spider,
Cunning,
Autonomous,
Glides across thin pathways...
Those banners of silvered silk.
His arms mechanical,
Weave and cling, graceful,
Deliberate.
Limbs naked and bare,
His eyes like lighthouses,
Alive with ruby-red flame.
Onward he slides, wanders
And twists,
Through labyrinths of red
And varnished green.
Silently he captures;
And unnoticed he constructs
His invisible roadways.
A Postscript Unheeded
Static incessant, a monologue struck silent. Autumnal rays scatter across this rusted bench,
A monument endlessly echoing.
You sat motionless like a sycamore;
I nervously recited poems, small rivulets of ink carelessly etched into seas of parchment, my arms rigid like balustrades.
And I spoke of love.
The sky was marbled and ashen;
The wind drifted through the blossoming trees like an imperceptible sea.
My face was pale, ghostly.
My lungs were like caskets,
Barren...
Cavernous...
Withered...
Your gaze thrust its way through mine like fangs.
Discreetly you answered,
And I watched as the heavens divided, their doorways unhinged.
Transformed, you became the knot in the my noose,
My empress forbidden.
Glistening arrows had burst upon me, upon my shoulders,
Upon my hands outstretched like telescopes, upon my sunken face,
And upon...
The naked cobbles,
Stretched onwards like grey, solidified clouds.
And you strode off,
A phantom, a portrait,
A darkening moon.
I wandered,
Disjointed,
Pensive.
I came across shorelines;
I came across cities.
Documents deceased, soundless messages:
My redemption unprofitable.
You were lost,
A youngling exiled from the womb.
And I was a saint imprisoned within dreamscapes.
The clock grew skeletal,
And time streamed on,
Slowly,
Like the gradual draining of oceans.
Raindrops dotted my window,
Exploding like avalanches of liquid glass.
In quiet bursts they hammered and danced,
In solemn voices they sang.
My eyes were crowned with reddish threads,
My speech was slurred and fading.
But my dreams were lucid and liberating,
A gallery concealed.
Parchment was rough and undulant,
Tongues could not properly expel,
And yet my love remained kindled, vigorous,
A jewel unwillingly hidden.
A Toast to Vacancy
Muted colors
…and faceless specters;
Wintriness like a cold,
Distressed sweat. Turbulent stares
Twitching and darting.
Noiselessly sleeps
The mannequin,
Motherless,
A martyr entombed within;
She is bound without shackles or threat
Phantoms
Excavating for their precious jewel,
Carving halos and rivers,
Stitching and sewing…
Scalpels converging upon a fleshy cauldron Like beggars
Prick then plunge;
Delve then draw back…
Flag the points with ink,
Mapping the pathways with murky rivulets…
Physicians shriek victory. The animate tomb awakes
And howls like
An orchestra,
Melancholic and wandering
To the President,
Guardian of the invisible gold,
Scribe and monument for the nations,
Playwright,
Titan upon the throne,
Reddened hands clutching keys innumerable:
Are we not the same?
All hail the vacant womb.
Colorless Flowers
Alien.
Trees caked and cracked as aged flesh,
Powdered
…And stooping down like tusks
Bundles of frozen lace ripe from the spool blanket the lifeless fields.
Sarcophagus-quiet sleeps the village
Dots of coconut-white spiral and float their way down from
Cloudy bedchambers like feathers
Not a whisper, not a squeak
Speechless they waltz and sway in anfractuous spirals,
Diving arbitrarily like crows
I step out onto the icy cotton…
Mulching the weightless bundles as I go;
They crunch and crackle like bones underfoot
A garden of amassed speckles and flakes,
All as soft and wispy as wool.
This is my empire, my unexplored sea…
Before the children, before the droning and murmuring, before the swooping of the snow Upwards as it is churned by the restless wheels;
I rule alone, with no one but Silence and Winter as my comrades.
Labyrinth upon Labyrinth
Upright stands the iron-skinned emperors,
Faceless
And tipped with reddish-gold.
Skirts of steam and smoke flank them with shadows and wisps.
Nothing to erode them,
Nothing to dull their glossy flesh…
Below surges mechanical tributaries,
Vexed, hasty,
Misguided,
Choking on chemicals, screeching and grinding,
Swerving though puzzles like crow's through the wind.
Howls, beastly howls,
Churn through the silence,
Embalming;
A venomous scent gathers upon the air,
The fragrant identity
Of the metropolis.
Spokes…
AWAKEN!
The jackals bellow; the ghosts march in…
Forests of metallic black…
Maws of teeth,
Saber-like, grinding,
Twisting, clicking
Massaging each rotating limb;
The veins and lungs of the factory,
Speaking in tufts of smoke,
Rattling,
Sharp as gunfire.
Lakes of liquid hell spill out their
Fiery spit into canals,
Avalanching over onto fields of stone.
Pawns,
With pianist fingers,
Hammering fingers,
Spider fingers,
Fingers like insects...
Nurturing, laboring, calculating…
Sparkles and rust,
Metal and flesh…
Aromas of sweat and iron merging together…
Hovering…
The chimneys growl with raspy voices;
The furnaces smolder like candles.
Machines whirl and click,
Mallets clang like trumpets.
A whistle shouts out, blaring and precise.
The workers, pale-faced and lifeless,
Trot off;
Beams of skeleton-white glance in through grimy apertures…
Iron and Steam
Along creeps the casket,
Robed in rust,
Groaning like an awakened whore.
Bluish shawls, darkened
As if by chemicals,
Lick the ashen hull with foaming tongues.
They are willows dancing in a contented breeze,
Titans, draped in purplish gowns,
Rising from below the reddening horizon;
The vessel punctures them like spades through ripened earth.
Behind it a bubbling cape of white,
Gleaming as if the moon, that pale sky-hung locket,
Had dripped itself empty and
Blotted the trailing waters with pastels of ghostly-white.
Waters rise all about like mountains,
Mobile and spasmodic.
...Yet onward creeps the vessel,
A greyish obelisk seated upon tumbling waters,
Undulant mausoleums.
Wandering Upon The Axis
The spider,
Cunning,
Autonomous,
Glides across thin pathways...
Those banners of silvered silk.
His arms mechanical,
Weave and cling, graceful,
Deliberate.
Limbs naked and bare,
His eyes like lighthouses,
Alive with ruby-red flame.
Onward he slides, wanders
And twists,
Through labyrinths of red
And varnished green.
Silently he captures;
And unnoticed he constructs
His invisible roadways.
A Postscript Unheeded
Static incessant, a monologue struck silent. Autumnal rays scatter across this rusted bench,
A monument endlessly echoing.
You sat motionless like a sycamore;
I nervously recited poems, small rivulets of ink carelessly etched into seas of parchment, my arms rigid like balustrades.
And I spoke of love.
The sky was marbled and ashen;
The wind drifted through the blossoming trees like an imperceptible sea.
My face was pale, ghostly.
My lungs were like caskets,
Barren...
Cavernous...
Withered...
Your gaze thrust its way through mine like fangs.
Discreetly you answered,
And I watched as the heavens divided, their doorways unhinged.
Transformed, you became the knot in the my noose,
My empress forbidden.
Glistening arrows had burst upon me, upon my shoulders,
Upon my hands outstretched like telescopes, upon my sunken face,
And upon...
The naked cobbles,
Stretched onwards like grey, solidified clouds.
And you strode off,
A phantom, a portrait,
A darkening moon.
I wandered,
Disjointed,
Pensive.
I came across shorelines;
I came across cities.
Documents deceased, soundless messages:
My redemption unprofitable.
You were lost,
A youngling exiled from the womb.
And I was a saint imprisoned within dreamscapes.
The clock grew skeletal,
And time streamed on,
Slowly,
Like the gradual draining of oceans.
Raindrops dotted my window,
Exploding like avalanches of liquid glass.
In quiet bursts they hammered and danced,
In solemn voices they sang.
My eyes were crowned with reddish threads,
My speech was slurred and fading.
But my dreams were lucid and liberating,
A gallery concealed.
Parchment was rough and undulant,
Tongues could not properly expel,
And yet my love remained kindled, vigorous,
A jewel unwillingly hidden.
A Toast to Vacancy
Muted colors
…and faceless specters;
Wintriness like a cold,
Distressed sweat. Turbulent stares
Twitching and darting.
Noiselessly sleeps
The mannequin,
Motherless,
A martyr entombed within;
She is bound without shackles or threat
Phantoms
Excavating for their precious jewel,
Carving halos and rivers,
Stitching and sewing…
Scalpels converging upon a fleshy cauldron Like beggars
Prick then plunge;
Delve then draw back…
Flag the points with ink,
Mapping the pathways with murky rivulets…
Physicians shriek victory. The animate tomb awakes
And howls like
An orchestra,
Melancholic and wandering
To the President,
Guardian of the invisible gold,
Scribe and monument for the nations,
Playwright,
Titan upon the throne,
Reddened hands clutching keys innumerable:
Are we not the same?
All hail the vacant womb.
Colorless Flowers
Alien.
Trees caked and cracked as aged flesh,
Powdered
…And stooping down like tusks
Bundles of frozen lace ripe from the spool blanket the lifeless fields.
Sarcophagus-quiet sleeps the village
Dots of coconut-white spiral and float their way down from
Cloudy bedchambers like feathers
Not a whisper, not a squeak
Speechless they waltz and sway in anfractuous spirals,
Diving arbitrarily like crows
I step out onto the icy cotton…
Mulching the weightless bundles as I go;
They crunch and crackle like bones underfoot
A garden of amassed speckles and flakes,
All as soft and wispy as wool.
This is my empire, my unexplored sea…
Before the children, before the droning and murmuring, before the swooping of the snow Upwards as it is churned by the restless wheels;
I rule alone, with no one but Silence and Winter as my comrades.
Labyrinth upon Labyrinth
Upright stands the iron-skinned emperors,
Faceless
And tipped with reddish-gold.
Skirts of steam and smoke flank them with shadows and wisps.
Nothing to erode them,
Nothing to dull their glossy flesh…
Below surges mechanical tributaries,
Vexed, hasty,
Misguided,
Choking on chemicals, screeching and grinding,
Swerving though puzzles like crow's through the wind.
Howls, beastly howls,
Churn through the silence,
Embalming;
A venomous scent gathers upon the air,
The fragrant identity
Of the metropolis.