#improvised writing

[theimperials1]

In the final years, taking long strolls through this place set to be a self-imposed exile, the meditations have not stopped as my uneasy steps guide me from one point to another. Meditations of the past, of the long and cruel past whose shadow still predates me to this day, regret and loss are just one of the many emotions it brings, and little more i have done but hide, into the deepest sections of the old library and into the and remember lives that weren't mine, those carved into a distressing immortality on the great gallery.  

[ace1diots]

Sporatic night poetry time !!! Happy 2 am !!

Dust, Flow, Chains, Grow by Ace1diots

Pile of unread books

Dusty on the floor

Will a story ever be written

Will a story ever be told

That does not have a hint of tragedy,

Or a hint of gold

Or are they all distended to be

Cobweb filled and laid to rest

In the abandoned catacomb

Trapped in the Minotaur’s labyrinth am I

May i ever leave ?

But the real question is this:

Am i the man ?

Or am i the beast ?

Riddles and rhymes these words be

And yet they still mean something to me

Words flow like a river

Out in the cold

Will they ever freeze ?

Will they ever get cold ?

Washed away in the current,

The fisherman’s boat goes

Will he ever return home ?

No one knows

Shadows of things past follow day by day

And yet our old patterns, stay

The light shines at the end of the tunnel

But is it just a crack in the wall ?

Or the sign of a brand new dawn ?

Chains rattle and inmates groan

Will you make it out alone ?

Will you get free of this grave ?

Or forever be locked

Away, away, in the cave ?

The storys they can tell us,

The rocks around,

Is sedimentary,

And scientifically sound

But what of the people

Who lived in this town

How come

They were never found ?

When will this mascarade end ?

Has the ball come to a close ?

When can we leave ?

I want to go Home

Disconnected ideas, all related

The past is gone

The future is elevated

Far beyond any mortal can go

What will our future hold ?

It is not up to us

To find the answer

But up to us how to spend the time

“Tick tock, tick tock,”

Said Mr Clock,

“Time is running out,

Wouldn’t you say ?

Please dont waste

Today”

“End Scene,”

The pages say,

“Please dont waste

Today”

[emptyheartfoolbrain]

Got no country & nothing to do

No home to crawl back to

Lost by the tracks like a Hobo song

My baby done left me cause I done wrong

Hanging out by this tree just waiting for you

Liquor and the fear they took my soul

Ain't had a job since I was 19 years old

Walking through the swamps on a little stroll

Cigarettes and Rum is just as good as the dole

And I'm

Hanging out of this tree looking for you

Ain't got no power, but my voice

Throw my body through a window cause that's pro-choice

No one on this earth really gives a shit

That woman, yeah, she love me she said cut the shit. You're far too full of wit for this sadsack bit

Stomping through the pines for an hour or three

Thought I heard your voice, but it's just the machines

Another steam engine thundering by

Thought about hopping on to take a little ride

A butterfly lands on my chest and says take a little time

It was the color of your eyes

A storm of blues and greens, and grey as the sky

A streak of brilliant silver right down the middle

And all i reply is i never learned how to fiddle

Ghost of my granddad plays another tune

Zydeco with French horns but it sounds like the Blues

So I'm stuck up in this tree searching for you

[theimperials1]

I have abandoned the known places, followed by the thought devouring incantations of the mind. Those evocative of sin and guilt.

[theimperials1]

I saw the end coming, both on the lifeless eyes of the statues and on the endless advancement of time, as the leaves of autumn kept entering through the already shattered windows, I knew the only fate awaiting would be a demise, an epilogue to an existence wasted on so many fruitless endeavors…

[theimperials1]

The ways to the past remain closed, and as the glass of memory prevails as a shattered prophecy of my future, my eternal wandering through the roads of life remain drained of all color.

[theimperials1]

Life remains yet, for me, the continuous devouring of knowledge between those thick walls surrounding me, as rain and thunder keep assaulting the bulwark, hands and eyes will stand set on each book, on each word, as those silent voices speak to me.

[theimperials1]

The study of the oldest doctrine known to man, those that predate the written tale of our times, back on the times heaven was the only kingdom known and man was but a dream, remain haunting behind the eyelids, and on each fragment of silence after each heartbeat, the sound of corruption keeps pulsating, ever onwards, as the eyes devour the knowledge despite the tiresome passing of days in contemplation.