Canned Heat

Dancing filled something new
It wasn't quite the position or the flailing limbs about
Nor was it the quiet and horror filled looks I was receiving
It was the fact that I was with you
Finally with you
On one of the most magical nights of my life
Moving under the star filled sky
Surrounded by neon lights
Coursing down the rough terrain
Just you and me
Ostentatiously dancing the night away

Dose

The inebriation was impeccable
Blurs shuddered something viciously sweet
A surge of something not quite touchable by the mind
The silence crescendo-ed before it halting screeched to pianissimo
Graduation of quality seemed more like a pit fall
Clarity gouged its way through hazy morning lights
A scratch of reality bled into another dose
The tilt drew everything backwards
Things lazily ebbed into a quarantine of heads
A quiet drip and scant beep flowed past like fire
Burning deep into skin like seared numbers
Pricks and patches came with scattered exploits
New days crawled on broken limbs
Past memories flew uninhibited, prolonging a gaze downward
Exceptional foresight fell to a weary close
A dose for a rose and a torn nightmare
 

LOVE

The crescendo seems phosphorescent
The climax hits the moment like beads of water
The gentle crash and silent swell of heightened senses
It seems the time has lost its seeming matter
The quiet cadence fades to a beautiful silence
A serene breath falls from the chest
The world drops
A touch
An end
Beginning
Climbing the ladder
Stringing along the scattered shatters into one
The impertinence falters
Everything falls into significance
From the hours drone
To the mysterious drag of light from all corners
The iris of pure validity and valor
Engulfed in a sea of black and white
Drowning under the heavy hand
The only four letters
Two vowels
Two consonants
One syllable

Indistinguishable

 And so the rain fell over the cadence

The effervescence of the scene so polluted

It seemed the magistrate held so little in corruption

The sound seemingly of strings strung taught and broken on pluck

However so slightly, seemingly he beheld, the glimmer of the nighttime whispered,

“Come into the realm of freedom and dynasty

Wherefore the innocent hail guilty and the rich sire the poor.

In which has set the bitter taste of originality

Hitherto blunder that with which the Mighty Hand severed.

Cloth to tomb, the lies of the deceitful ring only true to the perverse,

In yet the simplest circumstances it revealed unto no one in the middle of the square:

Upon this block is built ruins of the faith, keepers of the fallen.

It is here that which may lay the foundation to our coronation of the unknown,

Casting out the intelligence of the consummates and rejecting the sense.

It shall rain the evilest power unto them,

Drenching those “holy” and “majestic” until the world is truly as it was before:

A home of those to flesh and blood and to nothing of pride.”

The siren sang the muffled words to the worlds of the highest on low,

The birds that proclaimed lay dead at the passing with glorified feathers behind them.

Yet of those who saw no change, no disturbance,

It were they that shall enrapture and toss over the throne,

To reclaim the world once belonging to those whom perturbance once began.

Rhythym

Impecably impertinent

Unfathomably incorrect

Flawless in injustice

Promptly indirect

Figuratively wonderful

Theatrically improbable

The saint that met the sinner

The angel of the devil himself

The death of a life never started

The birth of a death oh so new

Practicality unspoken of nightmares

Dreams of unwishable fears

Nightly terrors of daylight

Darkened power of evil

Shining in black and white

Fading out to myriad lights

Killing the soft sound of the innocent

Burning the ashes of the grave holders

Completing a rhythm that never ends.

Serenity

The equity spills at the chorus
The journal with rough edges and tears
The neverending sound of cadence
Believing in things not quite there

Enjoying the beauty in sorrow
The book full of spirits despise
That perfect definition thereof
Of that quiet, cold summer's night.

And in essence a face not quite tormented
Yet in entirety pours out the soul
Who are we just to judge without knowing?
Yet to know is to Big Brother's fold.

In obscurity creeping minds wonder
The obsolete completeness of faith
For the surely without a doubt broken
Grasp on to some things better left unknown.