[guitarfan01]

I have no idea how to explain my thoughts, so I'll just say that I'm still reading, and still enjoying your writings... if enjoying is the right word.

[backtoreality]

Driving on the street just yesterday
Bright small halos on the lights that day
As the cars swing by its starts to blur all to one
In the midst of the darkness, for lack of a sun

A quick turn of the wheel and all those halos would end
A quick turn to the side and all the blurriness would end
A quick slide to the left and all confusion would cease
A quick slide to the left and all at once be at peace

It’s not a question of cowardice to leave this life
It’s a question of cowardice to roll these dice
How many times can I play before my fallen spirit shows?
How many times can I roll before my darker side goes?

A quick turn of the wheel and all the darkness would cease
A quick turn of the wheel and all mankind’d be at peace
A quick slide to the left and all the Evil would die
A quick slide to the left, all I’d give is a sigh

Driving on the street just yesterday
Take a slow right turn that yesterday
Take a slow right turn this yesterday
Take a slow right turn next yesterday
All in the hope of a better today

[backtoreality]

Run a quick lap, just one more,
Write a quick word, just one more
Play a quick tune, just one more
Sing a quick song, just one more
Drive a quick point, just one more
Run a quick race, just one more
Write a quick work, just one more
Play a quick aria, just one more
Sing a quick operetta, just one more
Drive a quick debate, just one more
Run a quick marathon, just one more
Write a quick tome, just one more
Play a quick symphony, just one more
Sing a quick hymnal, just one more
Drive a quick worldview, just one more
Die a quick death, just one more

[backtoreality]

The scream is there but the voice is gone
Voiceless screams pervade the dawn
As voiceless shouts trim the air
And voiceless sighs go without stare

Millions of mindless, heartless clones
Walking the streets in mindless troves
Hear not the scream of the voiceless men
Hear not the songs of their hearts again

Blood paved streets of iron and glass
Swept by guardians clothed in brass
Beneath the streets lies evermore
The story of forgotten lore

In evermore the voiceless lie
Beyond the clones unseeing eye
Beyond the dark red glistening road
There lies an old forgotten lode

Screaming in the vacuum of an endless cave
Staring in the darkness of an endless void
Scraping at the neverending walls
Screeching cross the endless halls

There’s not just one in evermore
There’s several, millions, clans and more
Beyond the glass and iron façade
There lies the truth beyond the sod

Millions of the voiceless screams
Millions of the unheard dreams
Millions of the unseen sights
Millions of the untold frights
In the coffin evermore
Lies tale of those who dared to soar
But lost their feeling, lost their touch
In a world’s erroneous, inexplicable mush
Lost their will to fly you see
Lost their will the sky to see

Millions of mindless, heartless clones
Walking the streets in mindless troves
Hear not the scream of the voiceless men
Hear not the songs of their hearts again

[bobthecockroach]

I still love your style. Keep up the good work!

[ella12]

Rigidity isn't always a bad thing. Many authors found a style that they liked a stuck with it. Think of Dickinson, she almost always wrote in hymn verse. I like your work, I think it's great. Keep up the good work!

[backtoreality]

Yay! Thx guys! Here's a short story, to break from the poetry for a minute...

The Death of Janus McClellan

The chasm ripped through the courtroom. Janis could feel the room tremble and turn. “You killed my boy!” The voice screamed from across the chasm. The eyes… the eyes lit with a fury unparalled. “You killed my boy!” The eyes fell, and the body with it. They crumpled. He was his son’s father.

Janis looked around. His eyes looking across the courtroom, looking for any sign of sympathy. He found none. The fire continued to burn within him. He looked around. He found none.

The chasm fluctuated in size. At times he could see the man across the chasm, at times he couldn’t. In an instant the man came so close Janis could touch his soul. The pulsating jugular, the gnashing teeth, those eyes… those eyes. They fell, again and again. Through the chasm, through the rift, into the darkness they fell. And he was alone.

At least, he thought he was alone. He could never tell anymore. The voices… the voices… where were they now? They always knew what to say, they always had the right answer. Always knew the right answer. “Where are you now?!” Janis shouted.

The chasm grew silent. Janis could see the million flickering lights dancing around toward him, every one a person, every one looking on in hatred at the “child killer”. At the “Monster”. At the “Indescribable Beast”. At “Great Satan” himself. All the signs… so many signs.

He could still remember the first time he walked into that courtroom. That was before the chasm, before today. He saw the signs, he saw millions of other flames that all lept out at him in rage. A million pulsating jugulars, a million gnashing teeth, a million streams of tears. And for a moment he touched every soul in the room, simultaneously. In an instant they flooded him, in an instant they ate at his mind and his body, tearing away the very fabric that composed him. And he called out, “Jesus, receive my soul!” And the crowd roared in unison, “You have no soul!”

He crawled up the steps of the courtroom. “He’s bluffing!” cried out one middle-aged mother. “He’s not crazy! He just wants to get off! Don’t let him!” she cried, “Don’t let him!” Her tears flowed, flowed down her face and onto her clothes, and consumed Janis as he cried again “My soul… my soul!”

The crowd grew larger and larger as their rage grew beyond conceivable bounds. They reviled him, despised him, hated him more than they had ever hated before. He knew why. He wasn’t crazy. At least, he didn’t think he was crazy. He knew his attorney thought that, and Janis figured their was no talking him out of it. He had made up his mind already. What could Janis do? Janis couldn’t even stop himself, how could he expect to stop an attorney, especially one as strongly driven as his?

His story had never been told, his tale had never been recorded. And Janis liked it that way. Janis didn’t want people to try to understand him, no one ever could. The darkness that came over his eyes when he had seen Todd. The pain that shot through his fingers when he had seen Marie. The unbelievable anguish that had pinned him to the ground when he saw little Tommy playing in the sandbox.

It wasn’t even his gun. It wasn’t his. He found it somewhere. Somewhere during the blackness, he could never remember what happened during the blackness. It was all-consuming, all-encompassing, it was omnipresent and omnipotent. The darkness raged like a great beast, and Janis was just a poor man, he was a slow man, he wasn’t a particularly well to do man. Even his mother didn’t think anything of him.

Janis remembered his mother. He remembered the one day in elementary school, when the teacher told him that mothers were supposed to feed you and take care of you, they were supposed to hug you when you were hurt and comfort you when you were tired. He went home and asked his mother why she never hugged him. He could still feel the mark, still feel the searing pain through his face when his mother hit him, again and again. The screams, the shouts, “You’re not mine! You don’t belong!” Tears ran down Janis’s face, why? He asked, why? His mother could never answer that. She just hit him again, with her hand or whatever was handy, boards, belts, knives. He still had all the scars to prove it.

“Father” was never a concept that Janis completely understood. Father was very foreign to him. Father was “that bastard” or “that _______”, but nothing else. He knew he existed. He knew he was still alive. But that was all Janis knew. And he only knew that because his mother couldn’t seem to tell the difference between the two of them. Sometimes Janis was “that bastard” or “that _______”.

Somehow Janis made it through school. Graduated even, took a job at the local deli. It wasn’t easy, but it was time away from his mother, and heck, nobody cared who was serving their meat as long as they did it well. And Janis was a good server. He took the order and filled it, took the next order and filled it, took the third order and filled it. It was repetitive, but repetitive meant that there was nothing to fear, and nothing to fear was pretty good for Janis all things considered.

But then the park got finished. It had been under construction for months, years even. Janis always knew it was their, but he never paid too much attention to it. The construction people were nice enough, he always supposed, but he was afraid of change. He didn’t want new things and people in his environment. Because change meant fear, and fear meant punishment, and punishment meant pain.

Janis went to church once or twice a month, he forgot most of the time. It was nice. The people there were nice. They never talked to him, but they always smiled. They always looked like they might talk to him if they weren’t busy. And that was alright with Janis.

Church usually meant very little to Janis. Most of the time the preacher talked about something that Janis didn’t care about, or didn’t really understand. It was almost as if he was speaking a different language. But Janus could remember a few things. He could remember a few stories. He remembered the story of some guy named Stephen, who said what was right by him, but got punished for it. And he remembered the story of this gal who didn’t have a name. She was pretty interesting for a gal without a name, Janis had always thought. She did something bad, Janis could never figure out quite what, and some people wanted to hurt her. But this guy, name was Jesus, stopped them. He seemed to think that she was worth it.

He remembered that Jesus guy from another story too. He remembered when he was dying, and there was a guy to his left, and a guy to his right. The guy to his left was a mean sort, didn’t want nothing to do with Jesus, which was a shame, or so Janis thought. Then there was this guy to his right. Now, he wasn’t the best of people, even Janis could tell that, but he wanted Jesus’ help, and, as far as Janis could tell, Jesus helped that man. He was never quite sure of all the details, but the preacher always looked so happy around that part of the story, that he figured it must have been something good.

He had wondered where Jesus went when the darkness came. The darkness that had surrounded Janis, the darkness that had pulled the trigger of the 38 in his hand. Well, Janis had pulled the trigger, but the darkness was there all the same. He didn’t want to hurt the kid, he wanted to save him. He knew that the kid was having fun now, playing in the sandbox, looking at all his marvelous creations, but what about when he got home. What if his mother got the knives this time? Janis trembled, he shook and sweat, and he pulled the trigger as tears rolled down his face. He heard a scream from across the grounds, and he ran. He never could remember quite why he ran, it just seemed like the best idea at the time.

And now his best ideas merited him the scorn and cries of the people around him. He waited on his side of the chasm as the pressure built, as each soul in the building touched his, and his vision grew dark. He watched and heard voices, but he could never tell from where. Every once in a while he’d mutter something, he’d yell something, whatever seemed appropriate.”My soul!” “My God!” “The Darkness!” Whatever seemed appropriate at the time.

He eyes grew darker.

Suddenly, a man appeared in front of him. The man didn’t speak, instead, he leaned against the wall and began to write. His letters were great bright fires on the wall, trying to say something that Janis couldn’t quite make out. The man continued, writing and writing, more fire sprung up across the wall. A veritable bonfire leapt from letter to letter, each saying something that Janis couldn’t read, couldn’t quite understand.

But as he looked away for a moment into the crowd he realized the fires weren’t as great anymore. With each brush of the man’s hand a fire went out, and soon the fires fell to nothing. And Janis smiled, and a fire grew but diminished almost as soon as it had grown. And Janis was happy, somehow, even in the darkness.

The man reached his hand to Janis, and suddenly he felt himself being pulled apart. The darkness flew from him and pulled stark left of him while the man stood between Janis and the darkness. The darkness taunted Janis, screaming at him for killing those children, shouting what all the signs had said. Janis covered his ears, he was afraid. He told the man, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, Please… he thought for a moment. He remembered one of those church words… Please… Please forgive me.

And suddenly, the man smiled. A coolness dropped across Janis as he felt the feeling leave his fingers. He cried out, but the man shushed him. He looked around frantically, but the man calmed him. Janis slowly felt the tingling come up him, slowly but surely, and yet he could still feel the man’s hand, placed on his, helping him through this strange sensation.

The sensation continued up his neck, and when it hit his head he suddenly felt the darkness disappear. He suddenly felt everyone disappear, except that man in front of him, smiling.

The man embraced Janis and said in a clear voice, clear as a reflection in a mountain lake, “I love you.”

[backtoreality]

Listen

Listen, my child, and hear the legend
Of the grave of men that bear no mention
Their graves unmarked and their eyes unknown
In the pitiful darkness they lie alone

Listen, my child, and listen well
To the story of this forgotten hell
Where men lie tongueless in the pit
Where men lie eyeless in the ditch

Their names are forgotten, their tale left untold
As their bodies rot in the dark and the cold
Never mentioned by name, for them no tear was wept
As the sickening shroud of death on them crept
Listen well, my child, and you’ll hear them still
In the cold night air, in the harrowing chill

And so the graves turned and the men were raised up
In the second of time all the graves did erupt
As a song lit on the dark dreary air
A short little song of death and despair

We are the castrated, sentenced from birth
To this untended ground, to the foul of the earth
Our tongues were removed and our eyes were released
From a dreary existence without hope or peace
We are the heartless, though not of own choice
For our hearts were removed while we were still boys
And we roamed the land through a blight plagued half-life
We all had our Eleanor, Idionae, Beatrice
We all lived in silence, alone, para siempre
And after vain years we returned to dust
Buried in e’er waxing, e’er waning lust

Listen my child, and heed the legend
Of the grave of men who bear no mention

[backtoreality]

Mein Doppelganger

Tears flow down my face,
Was it supposed to be like this?
Two faces, neither can I erase
Nor wait and, out of time, resist.

A face, cleft down the center
Or what one might call a face,
Should Death be that one lamenter,
And Hell itself be place.

Four eyes, two ears,
Not four, for where would one put them?
And but one mouth, consumed by fears,
To argue with itself ad nauseum.

What should man do with such a creature?
Kill it, burn it? Please do
Leave the door ajar as you leave so someone might mistake my features
For a friend, someone of kin, someone who might provoke “feeling” to ensue.

One side thinks from the waist up
The other from the waist down
One consumed by carnalities to interrupt
The subtle intensity of a pious frown.

Forgive me, for I have sinned
If one man err much then two doubly so
And two in one cannot but frankly grin
At suggestion of any piousness of soul

One side of course would almost live without the other
All it would take is a good knife
Deny thyself and end this gutter
But in such denial, dost one not also defy he which gave thee life?

There’s something about love, even unrequited
Which stirs the soul to such intensity,
That it can’t escape from being excited
And from thence is born the head of duplicity.

Forgive me, for I have sinned
She’s not a diamond after all
It shouldn’t matter whose arms she’s in
So long as joy remains
Joy? Justice!
It’s justice that I seek!
It’s mine! Mine damn it!
Mine

And in so quick a show a “she” becomes an “it”
As one side rails to be set free, to assert its will
And the other struggles to maintain control
Even at the risk of a broken rhyme

Do you see her there!
Her! There! Happiness! I see it.
The happiness you dolt, not that you’d care
Not that, I suppose, I’d care… considering you and I are both part of “it”

The mask, of course, the mask.
Who could forget the mask?
One eye a piece to look
While one remains as all but soot
But who would want the world to see
That man is not of just one tree
But of two both intertwined
The two form one faux-cohesive mind
But no man wills see either side
Would e’er see stillness in the tide
Not nigh castrated piousness
Nor highly tempered hedonist
And so we see the Opera mask
In every single minute task
As he walks about the moor
A face of silence, nothing more.

[backtoreality]

Blind

Night riders, come hither and here the tale
Of the last great struggle ‘gainst the wailing gale
The sailor rowed with all his might
As sweat rolled in his eyes, lost sight
He had not of the breathtaking prize

Free, free at last, he heard from the shore
From the shore of the land called Nevermore
So he rowed ever harder as his tendons drew taut
And the lines of his eyes, furrowed deep in the thought
That freedom might lie at the break of that shore
On the shore of the land called Nevermore

Finally, with a great pull of the oars
The sailor broke free from the hideous roar
In a moment he fell on the shadowed floor
Of the shore of the land called Nevermore
His mind finally cleared, his moment had dawned
As his mind began to clear and go on

Suddenly, his eyes grew wide
As the fierce pull of a wicked tide
Pulled at his hands and his feet and his heels
Proving stronger than any his powerful reels
He kicked and he screamed as his eyes burned in hate
I gave it my all, did my all come to late?
His grip ‘gan to break as his nails broke and tore
Pulled from the land called Nevermore
Screamed to the wind “I’ve paid my debt!”
And the wind replied, “Never! It will never be set!”

Night riders, come hither and here the tale
Of the last great struggle ‘gainst the wailing gale
For the mind is a land and a harrowing sea
And the waters therein bear to no ones lead
But that of the gale, only her voice will they heed
A creature borne of a volatile seed
And the land, set apart, a sure place of peace
Were it not for the gale whose fires ne’er cease
Night riders, come hither and hear the tale
Of the last great struggle ‘gainst the wailing gale

A Sailor Whose Name Bears No Mention