The Void

empty as soulless eyes
and vast as the moonless ocean
the dark speaks closer to the truth
than anything that ever walked under the sun

what comes after the decay is a form
of seduction of sirens
to further hydrolize remnants
of this oxidized iron of a heart

break down the ligatures that display
the butchered remains of faith
about to fall off about
the cervix

circumnavigate these treacherous waters
the surface of which is deceptively calm
underlying, a raging current of maggots

i) Solemn Siren

perhaps your death would spot the light
on the path towards the right
and even if it does not, it is entirely alright
because it is truly within this frailty lies the human might
so to my dearest heart departed: goodnight

ii) Sacred Spirit

of all things sacred, the soul
in pain and in kindred, run afoul
of the profane and the divine
poured dry as perjurial wine
no more, it says
shall we heed the words and the ways
away from what the benighted had always
known ever so deeply as strays

iii) Methane

it lies outside the gates
as one unmarked grave
ever there as sore reminder
of the things that shall remain
yet to be addressed

it remains outside our place
as one appointed to judge
ever there as firm testament
of the things that should remain
yet not ours to possess

though singly it exist
a thousand of it can be found together
huddled close somewhere no one able to see
except for those able to perceive
and those left in its wake

and by the white flowered trees that wept
in silence and in defiance of romanticization
in darkness and in hope of redemption

iv) Falling Through

tried for sins yet to be committed
in accordance each with their profession
spooled into thread, and the fabric woven
tremor in the fibre of being
with terrifying patterns

v) The Train

of thoughts never so splendid
oft ridiculed, seldom successfully
dragged out of its tunnel
that channeled and bored into
a million souls of many colours
another taking its place as one fades
taking the hit from the train
long shining single in the eye
in the darkness of one's own mind
as light does to the moth
and the string on the heart that tugs
tying us down in the mud
where the tracks are laid, always in twos

- for Chester Bennington (1976-2017)
18th July 2017
#30: Altered Universe