Cold and Slow
I have been told I have a gift,
But shackled to this prism of grief;
Even if I shine in darkness,
I assure you there's no relief.
Where, on the road, the slightest rift
Severs your path to paradise;
And in the bowels of emptiness,
Even indifference has its price.
It's a slow death that overtakes
The will, when the mind stops to think -
The cup of madness tastes divine,
So pour yourself another drink!
For it's but love logic forsakes,
When you hear that midnight bell toll.
Just lick the stamp, then taste your wine,
And send the postcard to your soul.
I've wandered this valley of ghosts,
(Things foul and forgotten long since);
To stand before this shadowed wall -
My misbegotten inheritance.
And of all things I loved the most,
It's but this face that crushes me.
Still, every night I hear that call -
Return to face cold destiny.
You cannot know how poised the dart -
How fine the art thatdissects you,
Atropos, blade at the ready;
While Lachesis proportions due.
The chill of shadow overtaking heart,
While you but dangle on the thread...
The bladed hand rising, slow and steady -
She laughs cause you don't know you're dead.
Whispers on the wind tingle nearby,
Palpable sensations touch my lips.
The presence of evil comes to mind,
With the soft hush of fingertips.
And the thick gloom swallows my cry,
As I wheeze and cough, catching breath.
Then turn to scream, but wake to find
Another dream greeting its cold, slow death.
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last-my only friend!
[This message has been edited by Michael (01-18-2012 03:34 PM).]