Cold

This feeling caught me by the veins,
making its way to my core.
It wasn’t unfamiliar,
but it was stronger than before.

It gripped my heart,
and quickly turned it into ice.
Gushing blood now petrified,
yet I didn’t meet my demise.

Eyes lost their luster,
becoming as blank as a slate.
Adversity now bowed before darkness,
my ambition had sealed its fate.

Foregoing the conscience,
virtues and morals were for the weak.
In a world full of illusions,
futile hope only grew bleak.

This feeling encompassed me,
breaking the mirrors before my eyes.
Without control or restraint,
I could see through all these mortal lies.

Heaven and Hell fell to silence,
like the deaf ears of the old.
Somewhere in the depths of the abyss,
bitter thoughts had turned me cold.

Desolation

We are drawn to sadness,
like moths to a bright light.
Writhing in emptiness,
like silent whispers of the night.

Chasing it helplessly,
like a child after an unrealistic dream.
Waking up alone at night,
with no one to hear us scream.

Our voices bounce,
off the walls of our loneliness,
seeking comfort,
in the crevices of hopelessness.

But this pain is an ally,
the only friend we have known.
Invoked by digging deep into the scabs,
of the seeds that we have sown.

We thrive on this solitude,
like heathens on ignorance,
like gods in a temple,
to fools bowed in reverence.

This is not a woeful curse,
but an augmented state of mind,
a drug that elevates,
an ecstasy of another kind.

It is in this excruciating sadness,
that great minds often thrive.
For those who’ve died a thousand deaths,
know what it’s like to feel alive.

Hero

Somewhere deep in heaven,
silent whispers take their toll.
Echoing through the dying light,
seeping through an empty hole.

The wicked always hanged,
for the crimes of men with sacred beads.
Pointing fingers to each other,
the tongues of fallen angels feed.

On the horizon,
a hero comes dressed in gray.
Not a part of heaven or hell,
nor an agent of night or day.

He comes in a flash,
like the final breath of the savior.
Tearing everything apart,
like the black ship of the corsair.

Heaven or hell can’t convince him,
he’s not an agent of either side,
but toils in the darkness,
of both worlds that divide.

Slaying all whose names are called,
his silent whisper takes their breath.
Widening the gaping hole,
like conscience after crystal meth.

As long as someone pulls the trigger,
doesn’t matter right or wrong.
Their fates are sealed forever,
as they hear the archangel’s song.

Why is the hero so unbiased?
Why can’t he twist one’s fate?
Why wait for one human to kill another,
over some petty greed or hate?

Because the hero is not God,
neither is the one at the end of the scythe,
neither the one hanging on a rope,
or the one flashing a gun with lithe.

A hero must play his part,
the audience can only clap.
None can play the part of god,
and fill Hell and Heaven’s gap.

Embryo

What is it?
Where does it lead?
Encompassed by clutters,
planted like a seed.

Heavy thoughts branch out,
forking in every direction,
like water running from a pail,
guided by redundant reason.

Yet it grows,
to feel the warmth of heaven’s touch.
Absorbing Adam’s ale,
responding to its temporal clutch.

The plant wants more,
yearning to soar even higher.
Wishing to forego the catacombs,
blinded by ignorant desire.

Yet the light aids its growth,
but it cannot pierce the adamant soil.
The roots must remain grounded,
for in the darkness they must toil.

To sate it’s insatiable craving,
the plant rejects its core.
Blinded by this misguided notion,
that to heaven it must quickly soar.

The roots are rejected,
the ground crumbles from below.
Nourishment vanishes in thin air,
the soil turns pale and hollow.

Cracks become visible,
slowly the catacombs collapse.
The aiding light now brings destruction,
through the vulnerable gaps.

Growth stunted instantly,
to the point of intrinsic decay.
Where the plant once stood tall,
so helplessly withered it lay.

Was it persistent desire,
self-doubt or indomitable fear?
Maybe it was the refusal to absorb,
the vision of the inner seer.

Such was the downfall,
a victim of its own bias.
Freedom lurked much deeper,
and not in what it thought was pious.

Thus, the remains of the plant eroded,
back to the darkness where it must toil,
to aid another seed,
buried in the same soil.

Final Hour

This fragile body aged,
throughout testing time.
Letting go of everything,
that I had claimed as mine.

What are objects,
but mere status and tools.
Even they fade before tomorrow,
while we hold onto them like fools.

We live as though we’re eternal,
and not a decaying piece of mass.
We sketch out elaborate ambitions,
that seep like sand in an hourglass.

We speak of the future,
while holding onto the past.
Endlessly pondering,
till reality kills us at last.

I patiently watch it all,
through tubes that leak out my veins.
Unable to count my riches,
or measure my potential gains.

Drifting through precious memories,
embracing every drop of tear.
I close my eyes before the reaper,
as his scythe slowly draws near.

Muse

Awestruck and amazed,
I admire the sculpture before me.
Such poise, such beauty,
that none could ever see.

Her ambitious fortitude,
an inspiration to all who gaze.
Divine and elegant,
worthy of every praise.

The closer I move,
the more exquisite she seems.
In spite of being inhumanely carved,
her stone cold eyes retained their gleam.

She had me captivated,
like no sculpture had before.
A monument of indomitable vigor,
I could only adore.

She seemed so perfect,
I could only wonder the pains she bore,
with every hit of hammer, nail and chisel,
her broken pieces on the floor.

The artisans had abused her,
though the scars were not too clear.
The caretakers would not accept,
the direction in which she would veer.

Despite the existence of hardships,
she stood tall in the face of turmoil.
Withstanding all the adversity,
bringing pride to her soil.

Her posture said it all,
a dream none could perceive,
a depth of magnificence,
an allure none could achieve.

How could I not love her,
the sculpture is a piece of art.
For within a single gaze,
she managed to steal my heart.

Blind

You only see what you choose to,
with those blind eyes.
Following the droppings of chiseled lechers,
swallowing their undiscerning lies.

Turning to muscular gods and fragile angels,
worshiping hollow rays of light.
Demeaning those who won’t adhere,
destroying them with all your might.

The gods you worship,
are nothing but misconceptions of man.
The lovely angels that guide you,
are just papers in a trash can.

Why then are their faces at peace,
decorated with a calm smile?
Do wings separate man from angels,
or is their purpose to beguile?

What if angels had horns,
and skin like that of a porcupine?
Would you still cherish them,
and accept them as divine?

What if god had a serpent’s tongue,
and wasn’t what the stories said?
Would you still bow in reverence,
or lift your swords to take his head?

What if the gods are different,
nothing like what came off the artist’s hand?
What if angels’ wings had holes,
would your idiosyncrasies then disband?

Standards divide us all,
our eyes are too blind to see,
beauty isn’t carved on the skin,
it’s in the demons with whom we disagree.

What if evil is good,
and good is evil?
Would you abandon your idiocies,
and embrace the upheaval?

Are we truly different?
We’re flesh and bones underneath this skin.
Somewhere up the tree,
we all belonged to the same kin.

Yet we despise all that is different,
unable to accept that which isn’t our own.
No wonder we writhe in sadness,
living our pathetic lives all alone.

Bond

This emptiness belonged to me,
my most treasured prize.
It remained unfazed,
even before crying eyes.

Emotions turned to dust,
all who entered would disappear.
It remained a sacred ground,
for all who approached to fear.

My temple of nothingness,
stood proud on this barren ground.
Covered in unbiased darkness,
vanquishing everything around.

Somber winds blew south,
eating every single shred of light.
My home was death and despair,
this soul belonged to the night.

None could ever touch me,
the chasm between us was vast,
then she appeared out of nowhere,
the sacred grounds invaded at last.

She blended with the darkness,
as the temple opened up for her.
The winds tried to consume,
but she did not wither.

Walking towards me with a smile,
accepting my being and more.
Uncovering all the secrets of my curse,
becoming the one I adore.

The moment we touched,
this vacant void was enhanced.
Through the shadow of this wretched world,
our bond would slowly advance.