zenwhips1
Governor
Love
in morning with the mist and new sunlight
she wandered into forest and was devoured...
love
contentment
and her blood, tingling
Only Silence Now
lifted to the skies, a gift to silent gods;
malevolent sans this supplication
pure and female and needful
the flesh to be devoured slowly and with love
in giving
as makers of the world gorge and bluster and feed
and snap her bones in joy,
her smile never fades, those maiden lips
rose and cream and childish prattle, only silence now
and rapture...
with love in giving
a gift to silent gods
female and needful, flesh to be devoured
rapture
Little Boys Who Cry
the sacrament made whole is the sacrament found wanting
it is all in pieces, as the soul that hides
impassioned blatherings of curious men in curious clothes
gone wishing for betterment in their unholy lives
incense can not help them now
nor the purest of tides
nor the most winsome of gods
and their little boys
cry...
they could not pray away your wings
nor carry you to places you would not go
their stars are silent above them and only the sound of torment from the pit
whinnies its way to their ears
blessed, the sacrament that is you
reconciliation of a penitent, the words that fall from your lips
at times, whispered, at times as screams
but all is laid bare
all is laid bare
barren child, you, a womb which holds confusion dear
life and death and life and death and life and
death...
such a dark and private liturgy your life has taken on
professions hide confessions til those ruby lips are raw
blessed is the healing from thyself as all your nays and posits give way
to monstrous recognition of a world gone sour
barren child, where lingers your love
where does it abide, when can it return
such a privilege to be so loathsome in your beauty
that even the night will not look upon you and smile
these things...
even the most winsome of gods house little boys who cry
their bread upon the water even on the purest of tides
never returns
their tears made holy
all is laid bare
Rumors As They Fall
no amount of cleansing rain can wash away the spot on the hearts of fallen angels
their sins too fresh to discount, too visceral to do without
and there are whispers and rumors as they fall from the skies
desperate tales in strange tongues that temper not the feel of the earth as they fall
absolution
each shall burn to ash when their journey is done,
as they've passed through this world to the next
will we all dance in madness to the sound of their screams
as our collective breath catches, one concerted hush...
where is a rhyme which answers the riddle
where are those prayers we laid down to rest
put away, silent, their aged lips, sealed
no amount of pain can cleanse the sins of all our fallen angels
as we all dance in madness to the sound of their screams
one last collective breath
catches
one lone, concerted hush
absolution
Of The Gathering Years
only the just and belabored wear a crown of thorns
baptized in blood-soaked despair, one more holy moment in which to gather one's thoughts
one more moment to breathe as the dusk gathers
before the curtain comes down...
on the night air a baby's melodic sighs and cooings come to visit
and wakes them from the stupor of the gathering years, nary a minute to lose
barely a second to spare, when is this race run
vanished
dusk comes together and lifts them from their fog, come, hither, good citizen
bother not with lies and false notions, leave them at the door of their genesis and take no notice there
the doorway, darkened, the candles are silent in watching
the dust is stirred in its places, in places held aside for it
vanished
only one good man to lead an empire, streets lined with gaunt crosses, the crucified
ex-patriots and vandals, a warning given to the tumultuous crowds of lovers and fools
who take no heed, when heed need be taken, restless ones who suffer the fates of their fathers
their mothers and brides
vanished
bother not with false notions, or lies or the crosses of crucified fools
put them down a while and feast with the gods of your misfortune
who lay in vast mansions of tenuous malfeasance, they are come to us, not we to them
they need the coursings of blood in our veins
maleficence
vanished
The Yoke Of Dying Prayers
I wandered into reeds in waters where your dreams are stored
and woke you from the sleep that kept you safe
breathed the minutes your heartbeat echoed through the glen
and brought you gleaming, shore-bound
I spoke with the angels of your soul, and the nights in which you've wandered
thrown off the yoke of dying prayers and early dispensation
they blessed the broken child who knelt and murmured secret thanks
in fevered heat her blood did boil, her mirrored eyes did shine
( it is all gone, now... all gone )
I've stolen the clay of Gods to make your flesh anew
and when I have been your God, I will cast you from the earth in pieces
broken, bare and used;
even the angels will not know you...
( all gone, now... all gone )
She Comes, Begging
she breaks fast with the Fear that keeps her up at night
she dines with it, fear is her companion, her confidant
her muse
when her bath is hot and scented, her nakedness bathes with Fear
she exults in it, raises her glass and honors it as no other...
( it comforts her, this Terror )
she asks the Mercies' blessing for Anguish not to leave her
in Need, she comes, begging, for the Pain to never end
the shards of peace smother her sleep and
her nights are spent on altars, of Blood, Flesh and Wine
( she spends her nights with Angels )
a sacred whore for her own private God
who smiles as he fucks her screams...
( she is in love with this Terror )
a whore to her Fear, her muse, her own private Need
of Blood and Flesh and Wine...
( she spends her nights with God )
The Sounds Of Your Desperation
wade through the coals and the low fires of your resistance
I call to you as you fall into the boundless pit of all your fears
hung from a thousand ropes
skinned by a thousand shards of jagged glass
you preach your love to the silent night and it falls on deaf ears
for there is no one to help you pray
and the stillness is shaken by the cracks in your foundation
as the hammer falls, and falls
again
would you pluck out your eyes and feed them to the ravens that follow you down
if there was a law which forbid you to see
cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs that have taken your scent
slice off your ears and feed them to the worms of the earth that surround you there
so the sounds of your desperation ring out no more...
and the hammer falls, and falls
and falls
again
leave your fingers behind, on the doorstep of things you've never touched, you won't need them anymore
fill your nose with incense and paste, and so the stench of your malformation fades
away
gone away
gone now
and still you preach your love to those who will not help you pray to the silent night
your dreams and visions fall on deaf ears, in the slowest dawn of your resistance
and the stillness is shattered by the cracks in your foundation, as the hammer falls
and falls
again
and still you pray
Given To The Night
the girl kneels, punished by remembrance of a new-found grace
and shudders at echoes of a mantra
"all things made new"
when all her world is made of dust and cobwebs, bones and broken glass...
and she can not find her way home
the craving to be beaten by her past grows strong
the error of her ways as sin, washed away in pain, and
deservedly so, for the whorish nights when her soul was sold
for aching pleasures given to the night,
and her clothes dissolved
but she could never make enough to pay the passage home
her breasts auctioned off, her vagina wrapped and sealed
her thighs and her lips, her fears and her worry, her scent and her soul
sold away and gone...
and all that remains is the scared little girl who cries in her bed
alone with her new-found grace and all things made new
dust and cobwebs and broken glass
the craving to be beaten by her past grows strong
her errors as sin, washed away in pain
for aching pleasures as her clothes dissolved
her vagina wrapped and sealed, and all that remains
a scared little girl who cries in her bed
alone
in morning with the mist and new sunlight
she wandered into forest and was devoured...
love
contentment
and her blood, tingling
Only Silence Now
lifted to the skies, a gift to silent gods;
malevolent sans this supplication
pure and female and needful
the flesh to be devoured slowly and with love
in giving
as makers of the world gorge and bluster and feed
and snap her bones in joy,
her smile never fades, those maiden lips
rose and cream and childish prattle, only silence now
and rapture...
with love in giving
a gift to silent gods
female and needful, flesh to be devoured
rapture
Little Boys Who Cry
the sacrament made whole is the sacrament found wanting
it is all in pieces, as the soul that hides
impassioned blatherings of curious men in curious clothes
gone wishing for betterment in their unholy lives
incense can not help them now
nor the purest of tides
nor the most winsome of gods
and their little boys
cry...
they could not pray away your wings
nor carry you to places you would not go
their stars are silent above them and only the sound of torment from the pit
whinnies its way to their ears
blessed, the sacrament that is you
reconciliation of a penitent, the words that fall from your lips
at times, whispered, at times as screams
but all is laid bare
all is laid bare
barren child, you, a womb which holds confusion dear
life and death and life and death and life and
death...
such a dark and private liturgy your life has taken on
professions hide confessions til those ruby lips are raw
blessed is the healing from thyself as all your nays and posits give way
to monstrous recognition of a world gone sour
barren child, where lingers your love
where does it abide, when can it return
such a privilege to be so loathsome in your beauty
that even the night will not look upon you and smile
these things...
even the most winsome of gods house little boys who cry
their bread upon the water even on the purest of tides
never returns
their tears made holy
all is laid bare
Rumors As They Fall
no amount of cleansing rain can wash away the spot on the hearts of fallen angels
their sins too fresh to discount, too visceral to do without
and there are whispers and rumors as they fall from the skies
desperate tales in strange tongues that temper not the feel of the earth as they fall
absolution
each shall burn to ash when their journey is done,
as they've passed through this world to the next
will we all dance in madness to the sound of their screams
as our collective breath catches, one concerted hush...
where is a rhyme which answers the riddle
where are those prayers we laid down to rest
put away, silent, their aged lips, sealed
no amount of pain can cleanse the sins of all our fallen angels
as we all dance in madness to the sound of their screams
one last collective breath
catches
one lone, concerted hush
absolution
Of The Gathering Years
only the just and belabored wear a crown of thorns
baptized in blood-soaked despair, one more holy moment in which to gather one's thoughts
one more moment to breathe as the dusk gathers
before the curtain comes down...
on the night air a baby's melodic sighs and cooings come to visit
and wakes them from the stupor of the gathering years, nary a minute to lose
barely a second to spare, when is this race run
vanished
dusk comes together and lifts them from their fog, come, hither, good citizen
bother not with lies and false notions, leave them at the door of their genesis and take no notice there
the doorway, darkened, the candles are silent in watching
the dust is stirred in its places, in places held aside for it
vanished
only one good man to lead an empire, streets lined with gaunt crosses, the crucified
ex-patriots and vandals, a warning given to the tumultuous crowds of lovers and fools
who take no heed, when heed need be taken, restless ones who suffer the fates of their fathers
their mothers and brides
vanished
bother not with false notions, or lies or the crosses of crucified fools
put them down a while and feast with the gods of your misfortune
who lay in vast mansions of tenuous malfeasance, they are come to us, not we to them
they need the coursings of blood in our veins
maleficence
vanished
The Yoke Of Dying Prayers
I wandered into reeds in waters where your dreams are stored
and woke you from the sleep that kept you safe
breathed the minutes your heartbeat echoed through the glen
and brought you gleaming, shore-bound
I spoke with the angels of your soul, and the nights in which you've wandered
thrown off the yoke of dying prayers and early dispensation
they blessed the broken child who knelt and murmured secret thanks
in fevered heat her blood did boil, her mirrored eyes did shine
( it is all gone, now... all gone )
I've stolen the clay of Gods to make your flesh anew
and when I have been your God, I will cast you from the earth in pieces
broken, bare and used;
even the angels will not know you...
( all gone, now... all gone )
She Comes, Begging
she breaks fast with the Fear that keeps her up at night
she dines with it, fear is her companion, her confidant
her muse
when her bath is hot and scented, her nakedness bathes with Fear
she exults in it, raises her glass and honors it as no other...
( it comforts her, this Terror )
she asks the Mercies' blessing for Anguish not to leave her
in Need, she comes, begging, for the Pain to never end
the shards of peace smother her sleep and
her nights are spent on altars, of Blood, Flesh and Wine
( she spends her nights with Angels )
a sacred whore for her own private God
who smiles as he fucks her screams...
( she is in love with this Terror )
a whore to her Fear, her muse, her own private Need
of Blood and Flesh and Wine...
( she spends her nights with God )
The Sounds Of Your Desperation
wade through the coals and the low fires of your resistance
I call to you as you fall into the boundless pit of all your fears
hung from a thousand ropes
skinned by a thousand shards of jagged glass
you preach your love to the silent night and it falls on deaf ears
for there is no one to help you pray
and the stillness is shaken by the cracks in your foundation
as the hammer falls, and falls
again
would you pluck out your eyes and feed them to the ravens that follow you down
if there was a law which forbid you to see
cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs that have taken your scent
slice off your ears and feed them to the worms of the earth that surround you there
so the sounds of your desperation ring out no more...
and the hammer falls, and falls
and falls
again
leave your fingers behind, on the doorstep of things you've never touched, you won't need them anymore
fill your nose with incense and paste, and so the stench of your malformation fades
away
gone away
gone now
and still you preach your love to those who will not help you pray to the silent night
your dreams and visions fall on deaf ears, in the slowest dawn of your resistance
and the stillness is shattered by the cracks in your foundation, as the hammer falls
and falls
again
and still you pray
Given To The Night
the girl kneels, punished by remembrance of a new-found grace
and shudders at echoes of a mantra
"all things made new"
when all her world is made of dust and cobwebs, bones and broken glass...
and she can not find her way home
the craving to be beaten by her past grows strong
the error of her ways as sin, washed away in pain, and
deservedly so, for the whorish nights when her soul was sold
for aching pleasures given to the night,
and her clothes dissolved
but she could never make enough to pay the passage home
her breasts auctioned off, her vagina wrapped and sealed
her thighs and her lips, her fears and her worry, her scent and her soul
sold away and gone...
and all that remains is the scared little girl who cries in her bed
alone with her new-found grace and all things made new
dust and cobwebs and broken glass
the craving to be beaten by her past grows strong
her errors as sin, washed away in pain
for aching pleasures as her clothes dissolved
her vagina wrapped and sealed, and all that remains
a scared little girl who cries in her bed
alone