The Punitive Gig

It was his time to play at the punitive gig,
Just a look around, and he realized it was indeed..the limbo*
Those humid souls, fraught with sinful vapors
Asked for a glass of the cold musical whisky
He delivered.
And without a lapse
Those vapors surrendered helplessly
Condensing to the surface with the serene vibrations,
Trickled to the bottom in synch with his flesh on the frets
But unaware of their slow clustering at the low.
He is singing a song to the shadows of sin
Who crave for that momentary trip his song offers.





(*limbo - the place between heaven and hell where the souls of people who have not been baptized go when they die)

On Her Own...

She wonders...

Who is he? Who’s she?

Who they are? Who I am...

But don’t tell her,

She’s on her own,

She’s all on her own.

She’s living her life under that social creed,

Makes me wonder what sort of human in her they’ll breed.

Teach thy love,

Let fly a dove, is what they preach,

And that little beautiful angel builds that dream.

She dreams of smiles all around,

With no facades to bound.

Love, and be loved, is what she believes.

But don’t tell her,

She’s on her own,

She’s all on her own.

She flies with her white wings in search of freedom,

The race to the mountain below seems to her some conundrum.

The ever rising dust of hate from those limbs, ready to kill,

And she wonders still, what always made her ill?

She wants to hold his hand, and feel the love of friendship,

Unaware, this society divides on the place of worship.

Her slow steps into reality,

Realization of her inanity.

And she wonders…again,

Who is he? Who’s she?

Who are they? Who I am...

But please don’t tell her,

She’s on her own,

She’s all on her own.

Why

A loathed step through the pendulum door
which swung out, inviting me?
Out i stand beneath the zebra sky
knocked the stringed scalp a splash of call
the wet trickled down to the tip of the breathing caves
forced the bespectacled lump o beard n skin nine zero degrees
The zephyr soaked the damped conscious
She creeps into the empty cranium, echoes silently
thoughts of her smile, that charming loquacity
the touch of her nano hands caressing mine
drove the sunken into some hysterical tunnel
And the axiom of mortality seems unfair
so mystical is her love
so beautiful is her love
The thunders shattered the divine moment
'Nightingale's betrothed the crow shall not be'
and makes standing in the rain.. worth
befriending the worthless mercury the sight tool spawns
And, the axiom of mortality seems.. all fair
The pendulum swung back in a bit, inviting me?

Crave

here i lie, now, again
as the withered leaf falls to the low
destined to be, still, clueless
deep into solitude falls this place
swallowing the thoughts my webbed conscious reaps
harvested by self-conscience
trembles of the yesteryear
apprising the one, lying...still
RISE
the withered shall turn to flower
the falling shall be the fruit
no analogy though
rise, change, create,live