Optical Eclipse (in C minor)

help to start up this tune baby
cause i'm havin' trouble with the words
but what's the point?
'cause it'll never end

oh can't you see?

my songs the world
or is my world a song?

it's a tad confusing i know

but whistle me a note anyway
and we'll take it from there

we'll sing 'em from the rooftops
and up outta the sewers
we'll break 'em down in the capitals
and topple the cities

all the filth in the world will follow our rythm
and step to our time

we'll rise up and live forever
in this song of love

but what else is love but hopelessness?

so forget it all
cause there's really no point, i mean

we'll just sit together
and watch the world fall down around us
'neath the ivy that's grown to block out the sun
and shade the two of us together as one

lie still
lest we rest the buttflies from their thicket
lunging across our eyes
lashing at the images of your face

i'll never forget it

not even when we're gone
and all that's left is our song
because the people are marching already
and sky's crashing down with your name

What you are about to hear is a true story.

As I sat there, perfectly still, so as not cause any error on the barber's part, I stared into the mirror in front of me. As I was examining my face I saw a person that I didn't recognize. His features were aged. His jaw, rigid. Eyes, deepset. A lock of hair clung to his forehead. I don't know why, but I hated him. It was the first time I can ever say I truly hated anyone. When the realization came that I was looking in a mirror I fought the possibility that it could in fact be myself I was staring at. It wasn't me. There was no joy in his eyes. No smile on his crooked face. Revolted, I turned my head and my thoughts away from this stranger who bore my likeness.

On the drive home, in traffic, my brother had to make a quick stop because of the car in front of us. But along with the general feeling of panic one feels when you anticipate the worst, I felt something else. I wasn't sure what it was until I looked at the man in the next lane, eating his cheeseburger. As far as I can recall, this was the first time that I was truly afraid for my life. I knew without a doubt, that I was about to die. I wasn't afraid of being dead like so many are. Death is inevitable. That much I understand. It was the actualization that I was afraid of. The metal crunching flesh crunching bone. The whip of my head from one side to the next, jarring my soft grey matter within my skull, eventually landing on the window or steel beam beside me. Splintering, bruising. I was afraid of the time it took between the impact and the stopping of my breath. I was afraid that I would become that man from the mirror. With my deepset eyes staring vacant at the sky. Or worse yet, closed. And the blood seeping from my freshly cut hair down past my ears to the street. And the people watching. Staring at my contorted body. Watching as I'm placed into the black garbage bags. Zipped shut to be forgotten. But after this, it's quite peaceful really. Not existing and all. I would be able to get used to that. But the thing is, actualization's a bitch.

atmospheric anomalies accost average automatons, assuaged asudden by apathetic acceptance

the clouds rain fire whenever i'm at my best
and the seas breath smoke whenever i am at rest
this serindipitous symphony serenades the scapes
of sky faring mountains, surrounding this vast abode.

heard from above, below
and all around
with an echo,
a TUMULTUOUS TREPIDATION

the birds and beasts, beckoned once before
now cower quietly backwads into their caves
wish to all things holy
that this will not be their last

but what is holy
and what is sacred
to the fowl of air
or animal of earth

that which is sacred to me
that which is holy to all
who know what waits beyond the silver trimmed lining of the skies
that frail image, with scythe ever-shining

together we reap the world
and take our claims
never fearing one another
forgetting faith in fate and foe

The Banner Reads: But for Hope, All is Lost

hail! to the heartbroken.
departing sadly from those halcyon yesterdays.
what shall come of tomorrow?
as they press vainly onward.
for tomorrow is just another today
and today is but a sigh of yesterday.
an afterthought.
a last chance to get things right.
before fondly fluttering forward,
fervently forgetting it's loses
and repeating the same mistakes again.

these mistakes are mine to make
not a chasm of someone elses past.
i rend my days with my own two hands
and patch the nights with my tears.
failure or success is not of consequence,
for i will be here tomorrow regardless.
i'm here today.
none will stand in my way.