Aureus Ventus

A trace of something golden
Lingers
As a silver wind throws up
It's shimmering particles
Yellow wisps of sand

Pinpricks of light
With no numbers to their
Names
Fall, diamond dust
Blue stars against the dark

Settles, an angelic carpet
Pure, clean, white, unblemished
Impossible
White shadows rolling
Out a malevolent clarity

Burgeoning red, seeping
Into
Every crack, every fibre
Of being, and spilling forth
Of joy

Adolescence

All is futile
All shall burn
Hail the meaningless
And shun those who are the result
Of what we are now.

Darkness devours all
Authority enslaves all
The mindless; conscious or not
The misunderstood; willing or not.


Ehhh.
Fucking white rabbits.

Greeting Ghosts

When the stars align
And magpies traverse a velvet sky
A bridge of gods design
Manifests in invisible dye

A lonely night rolls on
In the din of desperation
Quietly, silence mourns
With golden moonlight striations

Holding a vitriolic gaze
At beauty and horror intangible
To all senses a haze
So underwhelmingly incredible

Movement, a shudder, a fit
A slightly wobbly leaning
As the insubstantial sits
To convey some clandestine meaning

Sifting through dimensions
Never truly existing anywhere
Avoiding all mention
Of that transient, unsettling air

Cleanly slicing through
All we have known stored
False promises to he who
Would kill for a lord

Repetitions of loaded words
Lose their weight in the sea
Of white cats and black birds
From which we flee reality

The mist absorbs it all
All alike within burn
And dissipates as time stalls
Never to return

Inebriated and drifting
Through looming tenebrous kin
Kept alive by an uplifting
Lie, inferiority to pin

Upon every tree in the woods
A lumbering travesty
Loaded with nonexistent good
To openly greet tragedy

It floats across the grass
And swirls in the mire
Comes down on the blindingly fast
And sets all afire

Amidst a blaze uncertain
With no dark through which to discern
Embodying a blinding curtain
To curb sanity's return

Falling from the stars
Curious and burning bright
Incarcerated behind a mind's bars
By decree of a fake light

An imaginary haze's host
Stumbles with whited sight
Fruitlessly greeting ghosts
Under the soft starlight

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This blog seriously needs a revival.

A Lune

Ink seeps into cracks
White throated
A domestic rogue

Confuse Ray

Awhizzing blur of colour and lights
Blinking incessantly, unnecessarily bright
A daunting weight, crushing and queer
Inexorably hangs over here

Bereft of any form physical
It nonetheless looms, invisible
It whispers nothing, but yet I hear
A warning before an end comes near

Shadows populate the room
Made solid by a light in the gloom
As I think and await the sun
And ponder on what I have not done

With this thought I am frozen, chilled
Is it possible to leave unfulfilled?
But fool that I am, this thought I keep
It's 2AM, and I really must sleep

Timed memories

Memories are but time
And time is but sand
A soft scoop would guarantee
A handful of sand
A fistful
Would end up in no more than air.

Memories should be let go
As freely as
A crystalised cacoon
Bids farewell
To the fluttering wings
Of freedom

Lost memories
are lost time
Of an age
No longer missed
For the sheer fact
It does not exist

Facades of your past self
Vapourise in the desert of time
Identities based
on historical selves
No longer feasible
Staying lost in time

"Who am I?", you question.
A refreshing memory
A changed identity at every stop
An aimless wanderer in the
Storm of time.

Memories of a thousand years

A stolen whisper
A silent cry
A bitter aftertaste
Logged dutifully and
Materialised into an exquisite anthology
Of the many acts
Throughout your life.

This sacred book
Filled with transactions and plays
Will but be crumpled and battered
One day.

But it shall exist
Even after a thousand years
Solid and real
Lodged  in a bookshelf
Sheltered in a library
Of the history of humanity