virgo27
05-21-2010, 10:15 AM
The season of the dandelion has come and gone.
A weed, a parasite in a sea of grass,
Like a Grecian coin, that is looked upon for its rarity,
Behind the museum glass.
It has turned a beard of white,
Such as an absurd existence
Life cycle, so well established, life so short.
A kiss of air, releases the seeds onto the wind.
They are carried into the blackness of the universe
Dispersing upon the world,
As shooting stars,
The way our unified souls collect consciousness.
The museum’s antiquity serves as a memory.
The cowardly lion’s beard, bright as Apollo’s sunshine.
Drowned in and grayed by the rays of time
Return to the source of life, spreading throughout the meadow.
As the wind blows back her hair, the soulful flutes can be heard.
Observant eyes across the field
Watching as his youth’s embrace of her small waist.
Lamentation, soul’s rot!
Let hysteria set in,
Gyrate around the witch's brew, shake the rattle!
Allow the beast to rip free of this sinewy flesh
Gaping holes of flesh, and bone.
The devil has visited her in the night
His steel coldness engorging her
The pleasure of the insanity
The howl and moan of the arching trees.
We ride night into the forest and climb the trees
And rip the heads off the blue birds and let there blood stain our teeth
Red’s delight, chewed beatless muscle.
Where are you now beast man?
Of the same life time, generation, and season
Destiny’s trick, the juvenile books of taboo’s learning!
One sided joke, to torture the slow of heart
An endless ringing in the ear.
You are the daylily, for I deem your season only that long.
It will pass too, but I will be gone,
My love.
Your long stem, bending in the breeze.
My seeds land on you and around you to choke you out.
There is no proximity close enough to you
Except death, I will flatter not.
I will haunt the woodlands
Howling for my beast man.
You are my addiction, my drug of choice.
In sobriety’s insanity, I echo my desire for freedom
From you.
Sin, laugh not!
For my savior weeps for my broken state.
When I have everything.
A weed, a parasite in a sea of grass,
Like a Grecian coin, that is looked upon for its rarity,
Behind the museum glass.
It has turned a beard of white,
Such as an absurd existence
Life cycle, so well established, life so short.
A kiss of air, releases the seeds onto the wind.
They are carried into the blackness of the universe
Dispersing upon the world,
As shooting stars,
The way our unified souls collect consciousness.
The museum’s antiquity serves as a memory.
The cowardly lion’s beard, bright as Apollo’s sunshine.
Drowned in and grayed by the rays of time
Return to the source of life, spreading throughout the meadow.
As the wind blows back her hair, the soulful flutes can be heard.
Observant eyes across the field
Watching as his youth’s embrace of her small waist.
Lamentation, soul’s rot!
Let hysteria set in,
Gyrate around the witch's brew, shake the rattle!
Allow the beast to rip free of this sinewy flesh
Gaping holes of flesh, and bone.
The devil has visited her in the night
His steel coldness engorging her
The pleasure of the insanity
The howl and moan of the arching trees.
We ride night into the forest and climb the trees
And rip the heads off the blue birds and let there blood stain our teeth
Red’s delight, chewed beatless muscle.
Where are you now beast man?
Of the same life time, generation, and season
Destiny’s trick, the juvenile books of taboo’s learning!
One sided joke, to torture the slow of heart
An endless ringing in the ear.
You are the daylily, for I deem your season only that long.
It will pass too, but I will be gone,
My love.
Your long stem, bending in the breeze.
My seeds land on you and around you to choke you out.
There is no proximity close enough to you
Except death, I will flatter not.
I will haunt the woodlands
Howling for my beast man.
You are my addiction, my drug of choice.
In sobriety’s insanity, I echo my desire for freedom
From you.
Sin, laugh not!
For my savior weeps for my broken state.
When I have everything.