Silent Banshee

[banshee1980]

[banshee1980]

This plastic fuck’n paradise 

Wiggling between my toes,

AI’s and greedy cunts of spam

Marking my every woes, 

I hate this fake world of following

Where every click hold hidden foes,

There is no holding back 

My druken rage of those. 

[banshee1980]

Joyeux avec les morts 

[banshee1980]

Death & Deserts

Broken empty buildings still stand here despite the fragility of their existence. Homes, a bar, and a church are all that remain of some collection of lives lost to the wind of time. Just as the cold winds of the desert stream though my hair, making a tangled mess of my physical form, those howling winds of time make a calamity of anything that once truly lived. Most think the desert is an endless track of lifeless sand and perhaps it is for many, but I see immeasurable life in this place. The bushes and grass give testament to lifes’ ability for eternal existence. These plastered boxes of dwellings are what are really dead in this place. Their ghosts of occupants are all the life that remains; like memories of happy times lingering after love’s breath has been extinguished. How can a person be their own when these mental images of beauty and joy hold tightly to thier suffering soul? How can a person walk there own path when every natural sound gives impetus to reverie? The cut is new and the bleeding has yet to fully commence. Just as the shock of a wounded soldier holds back that red glistening life, so too has the numbness of this event taken my heart hostage. Knowing that the tear splattered pain has yet to drain the power from my veins gives me little comfort as I somberly attempt to gives words to this life’s moment. The setting sun, no glorious explosion of color this day, sets softly upon the horizon. Hazy yellow and reds blend with the blue grey of the dusky sky. Here too is a reflection of my mind; impotent sadness slowly sinking, leaving nothing but darkness in its absence. Life will go on as the Joshua trees will forever stand defiantly against the desert torrents. Nevertheless, my greatest fear is returning to my emotionless daily existence. Just as I was before love knocked upon my door disguised as a harmless coy smile. I have many options, many paths, all laid out before me. But I only wish to sit at this cross road and enter the oblivion; matching my desensitized heart. No hope, no dreams, no lingering longing; Just to exist or not exist as fate may plan for me.

[banshee1980]

Burning Bridges

Pour the petrol

Scrape the catch

In the setting sun light

Drop the match.

The dancing red

The licking yellow,

Glints upon a cheek,

A haunted fellow.

No simple thing

To burn a bridge,

When destinations sought

Lay upon the other ridge.

Still,

To keep ones sanity,

and have your respect,

Burn it down to ashes 

and

To hell with the eternal effect. 

[banshee1980]

Chasing Ghosts

I see the products of my mind,

Those misty forms

Flying around corners.

There one goes now,

A blur of smoky black,

Seen and unseen.

Existing

Only in the periphery of sight;

These wanders of dreams,

Those invaders of reality,

Lovely perpetrators of imagination.

For most they plague the senses.

For some they stand as curiosities.

For me they are a dangerous prey.

Chasing ghost adds excitement

To this dreary life of solid forms.

[banshee1980]

Shackled Spring

Today I can feel the insanity slowly rising up into my body, 

my calves, 

my ribs, 

my biceps; 

slowly gripping at the flesh upon my neck. 

I desperately want to fly away from this mundane life of work and plastic people and the endless proxy of living life. 

I want to get into my mechanical red colt and drive off at top speed into the spring day that I know waits for me. 

I want to talk with trees. 

I want to wander those nature lined paths. 

I need to breath that sultry spiced air; 

to raise my hands to the heavens and call forth my own salvation. 

Please pull these chains 

heavy solid iron things of man 

pull them off my shoulders and let me be free for this day. 

Yank the locks of working imprisonment open and destroyed; 

throw them on the cheap blue carpet of this air conditioned dungeon. 

Let me go… 

My obfuscated and impotent frustration weeps behind my mask of ‘how do you do,’ and ‘hello hello,’ when all I want to do 

is scream 

“Let me Go!”

[banshee1980]

Wrongful Love

When I think of that night

I close my eyes

drifting in mystic time

To that moment

No other existing in my world

There she is in a darken cab

Eyes wanting

My form approaching

Faces closing

I feel tingling run through my core

Our lips hovering close

Our hot breath slowly swirling

Each other’s air giving shared life

As I draw millimeters closer

Every fraction of time infinitely expanded  

We crack!

Grabbing me, pulling me, a kiss on my cheek

Kisses running up my face

My temple

We both retreat back

A second’s gaze into one another’s eyes

With in them the deepest wanting

Together we join

Locked in a frozen second

Lives touching each other

My heart, my mind, my flaring body

Shattered lust perforating my chest

Our mouths movement, a soulful rhythm

Lips devouring lip, tongue brushing tongue, hearts engorged

The sensations exploded within me

Memory flying me to a land so beautiful

And then death taps my shoulder

And that’s the end of dream’s poem

[banshee1980]

Penny Floor

[banshee1980]

[banshee1980]

Visit Original Link

OMG WTF

[banshee1980]

I’m so sick of being dead inside. I was never great, but at least I used to feel something real. There was a passion there for things; almost all the thing. It didn’t matter how trivial or grandiose those things were, I felt something. I am left without a muse and I don't’ mean some sexy thing of flesh. The sky and the heavens, the very stardust of inspiration, is utterly meaningless to me lately. I’m stuck in a limbo between longing for a future and not dare risk even breathing on my house of cards past. .... sure. go ahead. not like whining about it means anything. 

[banshee1980]

[banshee1980]

[banshee1980]

Cemetery Stroll

As I wander this quiet pasture,

The dead resting below my steps,

I feel the peace, 

the calm,

The gentle breeze of sleep.

Death wisps in the air,

A scent aged and subdued,

A reminder of inescapable prophecy.

The futility is soothing,

Once promises are accepted.

The realization is rapture,

Once understanding is grasped.

To sit among the dead

A pleasure,

When at last the serenity holds you.

-Silent Banshee

[banshee1980]

[banshee1980]

Dreams of Freedom

I’m tired of the chains The binding rings I’ve forged my self. I’m tired of commitments Tethering vines I once nourished. I’m ready for my freedom. Never more those thoughts, that past, my demented trap. I’m ready for the wind A wind of my own evocation. A brisk breeze or terrible tempest shifting, pulsing, spiraling currents. An unpredictable direction for my future flight. Where I go and who I’m with Matters not at all this moment. What matters most is freedoms call A pulling yearning I must follow -Silent Banshee