Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, February 10, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses
I said let's collaborate, converge, break
- beats on doomsday like 'it's compatible with birthdays!'
The greatest trick the devil ever pulled
- was convincing himself he even mattered in the first place..
Enter cryogenesis - biochemists guide pylon exodus
Bygones of the Saigon tetanus think twice for mice & meningitis human life percentages
Life is strenuous… such nice commemoratives
Packaged tightly in a crumbling bundle of love lust
The shadows of the cliff eclipsing the strum of funneling thunder above us
It'll take your breath away without depriving your body of oxygen
As breaking points join hands and form hexagon hives in polyatomic shifts
Take it from a degenerate zombie whose mommy's androgynous -
Who was taught to hail the bible and never engage in the mortal folly that knowledge is
So with each drought, I reach out with the clairvoyance instilled in me
Comparing orbs of the ministry in this paranormal vicinity
As time sands expand to form amorphous asymmetry -
Nordic Norsemen hoard folklore but show no remorse for their trilogy
Then outpours the downpour of the fourth horseman's ability
But lately they've overrun cities and marched forth towards infinity
The ugly truth was dropped like storks from the snow orcs of the Philistines
I saw behind the curtain and found a holographic George and phosphorous Hillary
I felt a sudden desire to topple the villainy
Conquer a few islands of solitude like Pacquiao on a tour through the Philippines
Warmonger of the psalm, the blueprint, so long, Confucius
Monochromatic karma hubris as the author’s mood shifts towards karma sutrists
Thanks to strong arm, I was able to pull the drowning gods from the calm translucence
At the Kandahar land bazaar, slurping Ramen Noodles with Anubis
Didn’t wanna die in a hollow cubicle - my shaman's crucible presumed this
When I slipped into a stupor at work I called upon my honored pupils for recruitment
To willingly take my place at Camp Qatar - to stand on Zanzibar
With name brand sitars reflected against the Mesopotamian sun to create a Rayban mirage
Now that you've clung to this numb perception of split seconds on apartment complex hedges
Sleeper cells are soundless within this nuclear bunk's recesses
Since we never paid attention Goebbels & Goethe became the stuff of legend
We thought the prophets gave us his sacred trumpet to string our lungs
but none possessed it, now we're all just some fuckin' punks a monk molested..
I wish I could run my tongue along the blade that beheaded the Sphinx
At the summit of this dreaded abyss as Mount Erebus sinks...
Blood sprinkles the steps, and I drink...
We've held hands along the cataclysmic art in shattered bits,
dismissed our hearts without assistance of the Doctor's shrapnel grip.
Split the awful clash of fists that cause the opened gash and wound,
full of broken-glass that soon could make us close the flask of brew.
We all would dance, consume, move to the sharply crafted tunes,
that often clashed with beautiful scenery: darkened afternoons.
While the veins painted onto the stained table-cloth,
made the day lay upon the razorblade's naked part.
While they sang the songs of disclaimed trailer parks,
dirt-paved with exhaust in the frame of their hearts.
Every morning wake would be a gaze at the dawn,
take a sever 'twards our face and the grace of our arms,
horror-based was the aura that would lay with the stars.
Caught the faint bit of sorrow, captured pain in our palms.
The demons seemed to reap our peace.
Seething teeth and evil deeds that seemingly will keep on creeping dreams of even me.
I've danced on this ledge, blind-folded on the brink.
Ice frozen underneath, eyes swollen with an ache.
Tried creating other scenes through pertroleum and ink,
It would soak within the drain as if it exploded in a sink.
Coldly cloaked within the claim that I could tame the fire, soul could sit contained:
If only it could stay endowed in razorwire.
The old man, pale-faced, is only made required
for the known fact: "they're sane, but no one's any wiser."
The staircase is broken as the bones in our attire.
Giving up's an art because our souls are getting tired.
The metal-armor jacket's rust is tearing off our backs,
enough to let us off, dispatching what is left 'til all's in black: "Destruct!
Deploy this ghost-town into a bottle full of rage.
Take the rest out of the picture, leave them cropped with a grenade.
Light the wick and bloody-red this place,
obstacles remain, blind the kids from what's in Heaven's way.
Shock them with a tase.
Hand a teddy-bear to them with the stuffing ripped apart,
because the ugly's living on once you cut the beauty mark.
In : Rhymed Verses