We had weaved through the city with relative ease,
and were parked lakeside by high noon.
Joining the vanguard of amp’d up
and vibrantly dark Mayhem marchers,
our foot-stomps created a growing riffscape of anticipation;
Then merch tents and stages came into sight,
as we approached the thunder of double bass kicks and death growls.
The stages became organs,
and we the blood flow they demanded
I’d like to turn the expression of
Into a a conversational turning point,
when a comment is said with a deep cutting tone;
To be said in a comedic impression,
so as to break the immediate bitter and tension,
of any parties involved in the conversation,
before an unnecessary confrontation occurs.
I feel like maybe
I’m just searching for a sound;
Perfect harmonic frequencies
for the opera abyss,
that’s laid silent, dusty, and craving.
To have them reverberating out
through my eyes and actions,
like a storm crow in sight of starlight.
To know I have won
the last battle with my doubts,
that I am living to the capacity
of my fleeting existence,
and I’m passing on waves of inspiration
We’ve got everyone at our back,
but no one has it;
Claw marks in our hopes,
vacant arms to fight for,
and a gas tank in need of a new source.
So we tried switch to solar,
but they blocked the sun.
They won’t do things for themselves,
or try to grow their own.
And though they think they shell the money out,
they’re selling away your home;
Our entire existence
lived not for the limits…
All things replaced through progress;
It spares no time,
has come to disrespect natural logic,
and sedated the will of our connected conscience
to the chirps of dissonant crickets.
The once bright future
has reached its nautical twilight;
We are losing the horizon,
and beginning to remember
what fear lays waiting in the darkness.
There is no escape from this nightfall,
it is coming for us all.
I think I’ve been ignoring the #4.
Not intentionally, more like it’s been blocked.
Like if I just slowed down,
and looked around the bedroom of another’s mind with closer reverence,
it might be there on some epic poster that triggers that nerve,
and tweaks my inspiration past the breach point of my damned conscience.
Or acting like neon light detour signs
for the leading edge of my impulse flow;