Duration a second in time
Metered and marked
From end to start
The clock moves forward
Time is told by clocks
Marked from end to start
Durations move forward
The seconds are metered each day
The seconds start
Metered by clocks
Seconds move forward durations the same
Time never ending.
When you wait alone, All you do is think.
Think of waiting, but then you go again,
And then its back to wait.
Sometimes you think, Am I late?, you go,
You stop, you wait. Time seems to slow
While your waiting, but soon enough you
Go.
Big grand old oak tree
Limbs that stay
High up in heavenly winds
There they rustle and sway
Rustle all your browning leaves
They will fall to the ground
Months will pass, spring will come again
And bring your green leaf crown
The man of money,
King of sin.
The man with the
Landlords grin.
The taker, stealer with
No remorse.
Worship his green and
Evil source.
Once there was a small small man.
Who would do what he could, when he can.
Who walked around the sea, the land,
And everyday would take a stand.
This oh so very, small small man.
I have seen the purple.
And blue and brown and green.
I have seen so many colors.
From fusia and pink and cream.
The cobalt blue, black, and brick red.
Lime, rose red, and basalt.
Lavender, orange, sea green, off white,
Light violet and that’s just a start.
Theres pink flesh and ice blue, and deep orange peach,
forest green and bright sunny yellow. Mildewy green,
the strangest cyan , coral, and tropical red. Light tree brown like
bark, and blue black night sky, have you listened to all that ive said?
There is a box,
Filled with gold, but I,
I Just don’t want it.
And there is a man, very bold,
And Oh how he flaunts it.
He laughs, and jokes, and rolls his eyes,
And snickers as he stares.
But I turn my head and walk away,
Because I don’t even care.
Chimes, ringing bells
Signal passing hours
Flowered fragrant wooded paths
Surround the majestic tower
I danced around a fire,
And twirled as I danced and sung.
And used the ash to paint my face,
In the guise of the night to come.
Several things in different ways,
In a seemingly multitude of variable ways,
Are inexplicable and indeniably hard to say
A knight in shining armor,
Rides across the field.
Oh what power lies in the sword,
That this knight doth yield.
All the hungry peasant folk,
Come to honor him with stares
But the knight just rides and passes by,
Without a single care
And woke myself up from a horrible dream
“The man is cursed!”
They proclaimed then spat,
upon the ground that he just tread.
“We wish he were dead!”
“The man is evil!”
The woman curled her lip,
and glowered at where he once stood.
“We wish he would leave for good!”
“The man is hateful!”
The young wife shook
her fist in his last direction.
“Without him this town would be perfection!”
“The man is doomed!”
The preacher bowed his head,
and prayed to the heavens above.
“We wish him naught but love!”
“I am cursed?”
“I am evil?”
“I am hateful and doomed?” he said.
The man just cackled, and shook his fist.
And away on cloven hoof did tread.
Stones hard and cold.
The land used and flat.
The trees were crooked bent.
And blackened and scant.
The sky was red.
Tormented with fire.
The ghastly reflection
Of the funeral pyre.
That burned far below
A dark moonless sky.
It burned and raged
For all those who died.
It swirled and ripped
And its red fire tore.
At the hearts of.
Those sent to war.
And the faces.
That had watched them leave
Cursed at the flames
That helped them grieve.
But this was how.
They honored the men.
Honored the dreams and hopes of their friends.
That were all sent off to die.
This was their way to say goodbye.
Can you feel the things not there
Awaiting behind your back
And
Can your hear the distant steps
Following your every track
The woods silent standing
On a windless night
Its paths bending turning
Streams reflecting the moonlight
The mossy trunks rising
Up towards a black sky
Silent rustle of the leaves
The empty woods at night.
A crack when young
Can become
An orifice for unheard of terror
The stars at night
Fill kids with fright
And at night don’t look in a mirror
A shadowed wall
A scrape on glass
When you’re a kid alone in bed
You’ll be lucky to wake up alive
So pull the covers over your head.
The coldest grave is calling,
To the one who lies entrenched,
In their deathbed covered but cold,
The hands of death outstretched.
The dark tomb is awaiting,
For the one who gasps their last,
Comforted but still in pain,
The hands of death outstretched.
The funeral pyre is burning,
For the bodies of the dead,
No memories can reclaim their hearts,
The hands of death outstretched.
You can only see so far at night
The fog and moonless sky obscure
All the things you cannot see
The things that fill your soul with fright
These things await you in the dark
Lurking and waiting beyond your vision
Your mind can feel their amorphous forms
And they can sense your beating heart
Your sanctuary a ring of light
Flickers, pops, and then goes dark
Their evil souls, cold, grow close
The things that fill your soul with fright
Life the scary monster,
It awaits round every bend.
It waits for all your time to pass,
Then your life it will end.
Sacrificial stone
Virgin bound and gagged
All the fires raging
To the altar she is dragged
