Oneros
"When she's near the limits of extreme fatigue, the others seem to fall asleep. Her mind goes empty when no one's around... there are no ideas, no imagination, no disperse opinions, no concepts about anything. Her needs disappear, she strives for nothing. Her senses fail - her thoughts are empty. She turns into no one, and no one she is, untill they all wake up and drive her mad again." - extract from the book.
Orpheus
Thine eyes doth shine
Green colours faded unlike mine
Once a moonray now a beam
Thine melody, a requiem for a dream.
Shineth on, smoothly o'er me
A smile of blissful serenity
I love thee, mine angle white,
Patrolling lifeless through the night
Oh but what hath I done
Darling mine, to become one
With a soul as gold as thine
In such short period of time?
“Aketh not such questions dear”
Sat thee softly to mine ear
“I shall stay forevermore
Till eternity and furthermore”
Hazel eyes of truth reflected
Fighteth a love of a heart – neglected
Strained and calm, how can one do
To believe love endless and true?
Green colours faded unlike mine
Once a moonray now a beam
Thine melody, a requiem for a dream.
Shineth on, smoothly o'er me
A smile of blissful serenity
I love thee, mine angle white,
Patrolling lifeless through the night
Oh but what hath I done
Darling mine, to become one
With a soul as gold as thine
In such short period of time?
“Aketh not such questions dear”
Sat thee softly to mine ear
“I shall stay forevermore
Till eternity and furthermore”
Hazel eyes of truth reflected
Fighteth a love of a heart – neglected
Strained and calm, how can one do
To believe love endless and true?
Wolf's Mane
Autumn had yet only just commenced, with a shy overtaking of Summer, clouds gently assuming heavier silhouettes and trees losing hold of their crispy golden leaves. It rained slightly during the evening, and would stop before the night arrived, leaving petrichor to patrol throughout the now empty streets, left behind by heat seeking people.
There is never any interest in cruising through dull and dreary landscapes, but I, for one, am delighted by the ill-look I find upon the naked oak-trees, as well as the touch of dark green presented by the dispersed pine trees. As a kid I recall making dens in their center, where I would stay for hours playing with my tail collection.
Father was a hunter, and every spring he would bring me tails he had stuffed since his winter gathering. I had rabit tails, fox tails, deer tails and one beautiful grey wolf's tail. With these I would play just as any girl plays with her dolls; the foxes would chase the rabits, and the wolf would hunt down the deer, unceasingly. As a young lad, my greatest dream was to one day see a grey wolf for myself.
And so, as every Autumn since my father's death, I would find myself needy for a stroll through the dismal woods. My house was only a couple of minutes away, and in no time would my lungs be freshly renewed by the earthy smell of the woods. Many nights have been stolen by the howling of a wolf in my dreams, only to wake up in a fright, to find myself with arms stretched out to the side, the left pushed up against a wall, the right holding my father's hunting hat, which I sacrilegiously kept on my bedside table. On other occasions I had found myself lying on the kitchen floor with a knife at hand, helplessy dreaming about killing the animal.
There was one sole time, at the entering of this Autumn, that the dream seemed to foist into real life.
I found myself in Dimrost, a forest that gently covers a great mountain with dense trees. My father had once taken me there, among many of my childhood hunting expeditions, hoping to show his son a real-life grey wolf. Alas, we did not find anything like it, and it seemed that in this dream I was having, we did in fact come across one.
Its hazel eyes were staring cryptically at me, an oblivious look upon its visage. The animal held itself in such an autocratic way, I felt an urge I could not control to gaze upon its splendour. Its grey fur had a strong, rough texture, with whiter tones in its pompous chest, blacker tones flowing from the scruff, down the spine, ending at the tip of the tail with a spear shaped trace.
It sensed me. It felt my presence - but it feared me not.
It was time. I needed to proceed with my endeavour, for I had acquired nothing but misfortune throughout the years. To my great dismal, I found myself tied between two Gordian knots: I craved to kill this beast; yet my soul pleaded to let the creature live. I felt I had the power, but upon it's distinction, had lost all the will. I remained displeased for several moments, the wolf remaining rooted to the spot, continuously aware of its surroundings.
I did not posess the fortitude to harm it, yet it seemed someone else did. The sound of crackling sticks left me startled, and I sensed I was not alone trying to get a grasp of the wolf's mane. Withing instances, I saw a figure appear, holding what seemed to be a shotgun.
I recall nothing more from that moment on, only that I lay somewhere soft, surrounded by bits of green, which with time straightened out into a cloak of pine trees. Warm blood oosed from my left shoulder, and the wolf had disappeared.
I have since then had the pleasure to see the sovereign animal permanently close by, watching me from a mount top whenever I choose to take a stroll in the woods.
There is never any interest in cruising through dull and dreary landscapes, but I, for one, am delighted by the ill-look I find upon the naked oak-trees, as well as the touch of dark green presented by the dispersed pine trees. As a kid I recall making dens in their center, where I would stay for hours playing with my tail collection.
Father was a hunter, and every spring he would bring me tails he had stuffed since his winter gathering. I had rabit tails, fox tails, deer tails and one beautiful grey wolf's tail. With these I would play just as any girl plays with her dolls; the foxes would chase the rabits, and the wolf would hunt down the deer, unceasingly. As a young lad, my greatest dream was to one day see a grey wolf for myself.
And so, as every Autumn since my father's death, I would find myself needy for a stroll through the dismal woods. My house was only a couple of minutes away, and in no time would my lungs be freshly renewed by the earthy smell of the woods. Many nights have been stolen by the howling of a wolf in my dreams, only to wake up in a fright, to find myself with arms stretched out to the side, the left pushed up against a wall, the right holding my father's hunting hat, which I sacrilegiously kept on my bedside table. On other occasions I had found myself lying on the kitchen floor with a knife at hand, helplessy dreaming about killing the animal.
There was one sole time, at the entering of this Autumn, that the dream seemed to foist into real life.
I found myself in Dimrost, a forest that gently covers a great mountain with dense trees. My father had once taken me there, among many of my childhood hunting expeditions, hoping to show his son a real-life grey wolf. Alas, we did not find anything like it, and it seemed that in this dream I was having, we did in fact come across one.
Its hazel eyes were staring cryptically at me, an oblivious look upon its visage. The animal held itself in such an autocratic way, I felt an urge I could not control to gaze upon its splendour. Its grey fur had a strong, rough texture, with whiter tones in its pompous chest, blacker tones flowing from the scruff, down the spine, ending at the tip of the tail with a spear shaped trace.
It sensed me. It felt my presence - but it feared me not.
It was time. I needed to proceed with my endeavour, for I had acquired nothing but misfortune throughout the years. To my great dismal, I found myself tied between two Gordian knots: I craved to kill this beast; yet my soul pleaded to let the creature live. I felt I had the power, but upon it's distinction, had lost all the will. I remained displeased for several moments, the wolf remaining rooted to the spot, continuously aware of its surroundings.
I did not posess the fortitude to harm it, yet it seemed someone else did. The sound of crackling sticks left me startled, and I sensed I was not alone trying to get a grasp of the wolf's mane. Withing instances, I saw a figure appear, holding what seemed to be a shotgun.
I recall nothing more from that moment on, only that I lay somewhere soft, surrounded by bits of green, which with time straightened out into a cloak of pine trees. Warm blood oosed from my left shoulder, and the wolf had disappeared.
I have since then had the pleasure to see the sovereign animal permanently close by, watching me from a mount top whenever I choose to take a stroll in the woods.
Slave
"Relentless.
I have found a fracutre beneath
A stone.
Heart of stone, this girl, unkown
To me and to everyone.
I know what to do,
Yet
It seems again
A craving has birthed in me
My hands with blood, soaked
Wet.
Sliced
Apart are two channels to life
Breathe
Or suffocate in faint pleasure
Somehow I find in you my past
My heart, where it layed
It bereaved
Tick.
You little prick. Soon forget
I will never regret, this
Mindblowing system of yours.
Life. Death.
Ilusion I contemplate
With senses I hate.
Awake." ~Sebastian Leverett
I have found a fracutre beneath
A stone.
Heart of stone, this girl, unkown
To me and to everyone.
I know what to do,
Yet
It seems again
A craving has birthed in me
My hands with blood, soaked
Wet.
Sliced
Apart are two channels to life
Breathe
Or suffocate in faint pleasure
Somehow I find in you my past
My heart, where it layed
It bereaved
Tick.
You little prick. Soon forget
I will never regret, this
Mindblowing system of yours.
Life. Death.
Ilusion I contemplate
With senses I hate.
Awake." ~Sebastian Leverett
The Cat
Synthesis of a black veiled soul strolling through the night so cold
Passing and stroking a fur of might, rumerous noises of sheer delight
Could have been anger or even of fright, a cause to collide daytime with night
A furious dazzling point-arched stare of empathy leaving from everywhere.
The meowl of a cat that ruptures the silence
A titter tat game of tottering paws
A tail filled with twists and turns of bones
And a delicate leap to end up in such brilliance
It is the cat, the one we all fear
Flee to your houses the black one is near
He comes out at dawn and by dusk is content
By the devil himself this cat has been sent
Bad luck lures into the the strong
If only they knew how much they were wrong
The cat is harmless as much as can be
He comes out at night looking for me
I am his owner please do not be scared
This kitten is lovely stop being so square
It was not until the night was alone, a repetitive silence with no twisting of bones
That everyone saddened and feeling contrite, someone cried out loudly into the night
"The burden is gone, there are no more threats, but let it be known we bathe in regrets"
Protested words shot into the moon, the cat was bound to come back soon.
By the end of three moons, the moment had come, bars shut down silent with the spilling of rum
Everyone static the soul had been felt, reminiscence of past from where the cat dwelt
Tail by the chairs, the prancing of paws, by shutters the wind, by skin where its claws
The fury was back, the soul was too black, but happiness strolled in who wanted him back.
And so is the story of my little cat, it is indeed harmless and that is a fact
At night I get cuddles while others get claws, but everyone knows how we all have our flaws.
Passing and stroking a fur of might, rumerous noises of sheer delight
Could have been anger or even of fright, a cause to collide daytime with night
A furious dazzling point-arched stare of empathy leaving from everywhere.
The meowl of a cat that ruptures the silence
A titter tat game of tottering paws
A tail filled with twists and turns of bones
And a delicate leap to end up in such brilliance
It is the cat, the one we all fear
Flee to your houses the black one is near
He comes out at dawn and by dusk is content
By the devil himself this cat has been sent
Bad luck lures into the the strong
If only they knew how much they were wrong
The cat is harmless as much as can be
He comes out at night looking for me
I am his owner please do not be scared
This kitten is lovely stop being so square
It was not until the night was alone, a repetitive silence with no twisting of bones
That everyone saddened and feeling contrite, someone cried out loudly into the night
"The burden is gone, there are no more threats, but let it be known we bathe in regrets"
Protested words shot into the moon, the cat was bound to come back soon.
By the end of three moons, the moment had come, bars shut down silent with the spilling of rum
Everyone static the soul had been felt, reminiscence of past from where the cat dwelt
Tail by the chairs, the prancing of paws, by shutters the wind, by skin where its claws
The fury was back, the soul was too black, but happiness strolled in who wanted him back.
And so is the story of my little cat, it is indeed harmless and that is a fact
At night I get cuddles while others get claws, but everyone knows how we all have our flaws.
Elinor's Tale
Adde in me a sophistic feel for tungsten edged senselessness
And do unto me what hath forever abided my time
Find in thy spirit an ignition of spitefulness
And casteth thy love in this burning heart of mine
Forever I beg for thine arms to embrace
A single silhouette of my scarred soul
Openest thy hands and holdest my face
Look into my brown windows, and bid me from losing control.
Amidst smiles and conversations like fire
Gleam our eyes before one another
Blood pulseth alive with desire
As both cross claws intertwined in each other.
Like a rose pryethe out to the sky
My voice open, I prithee not to forget
Should I ever leave the soil, thine and die
Then restest not for it is threat.
~Mia Persson
Find in thy spirit an ignition of spitefulness
And casteth thy love in this burning heart of mine
Forever I beg for thine arms to embrace
A single silhouette of my scarred soul
Openest thy hands and holdest my face
Look into my brown windows, and bid me from losing control.
Amidst smiles and conversations like fire
Gleam our eyes before one another
Blood pulseth alive with desire
As both cross claws intertwined in each other.
Like a rose pryethe out to the sky
My voice open, I prithee not to forget
Should I ever leave the soil, thine and die
Then restest not for it is threat.
~Mia Persson
Dead Waters
I stand crouched before my grave
Eyes sinking in through the earth
Soon my life will be taken by a wave
And every tide I've swimmed against
Will have lost its worth.
My hands reach out, in dreams
Under the surface I breathe slow
When I wake up, truth is what it seems
And that's where I find it's time to grow
I must attain a perfect balance
Learn to swim and not drown in pain
Walk the ground and feel the rain
Let it wash away all this nuisance
My ghost shall forever roam these merciless streets
And watch the boat that pushed me into the blue
The roaring of the ocean, the monsters I emerge
Ready to pull my limbs and twist my mind
The empty water-drowned souls I long to purge
Come up to get me but always stay behind
Whispering delicatley a sweet winter dirge
Eyes sinking in through the earth
Soon my life will be taken by a wave
And every tide I've swimmed against
Will have lost its worth.
My hands reach out, in dreams
Under the surface I breathe slow
When I wake up, truth is what it seems
And that's where I find it's time to grow
I must attain a perfect balance
Learn to swim and not drown in pain
Walk the ground and feel the rain
Let it wash away all this nuisance
My ghost shall forever roam these merciless streets
And watch the boat that pushed me into the blue
The roaring of the ocean, the monsters I emerge
Ready to pull my limbs and twist my mind
The empty water-drowned souls I long to purge
Come up to get me but always stay behind
Whispering delicatley a sweet winter dirge
Hear Myself
I hear voices
They're driving me insane
Turn back, surrender to every face standing judging me in pain
I have dreams
They make too much sense
Living drenched and confused in a perfect-future tense
I've jumped a thousand rooftops
I've screamed to the dark sky night
I've drank too many poisons
Nothing seems to make it right
I've been in places
That you don't know
I've watched you start life
I've watched you breathe and grow
The blood clogging in you
I see you're ill and I am crystal
And don't know what's real.
I have stories
That have never been told
Open my mouth to speak, feel the stiches distorting my speech
I have scars
That have never been made
Wake up at night screaming to the walls, blood leaking from my veins.
I've won a million battles
In which I never fought
Seen my soul in flames
In the million mirrors that I've bought.
I just cannot help myself.
I just cannot help myself.
I just cannot help myself fix me.
Powder, Strike, Retreat
"How many voices my mind speaks
How many minds my soul holds
Each leading to a different path
Each path to a nowhere that unfolds
I know not where each finger points
I know not where my souls need to be
Leading me to somewhere insane
Ruptured beneath secrecy
I did not see myself birth
Nor has my body crumbled beneath the soil
My story is a line tangled between cuts
Split ends, misfortunes and empowered lucks.
But melt not your eyes, for my horizon shines wide
For all of these creatures making me glow inside.
A me yet to define
A me yet to be found
Hide, and I shall seek
Be lost, and I shall retreat
All the way back
-to my insanity."~Mia Persson, scraps
How many minds my soul holds
Each leading to a different path
Each path to a nowhere that unfolds
I know not where each finger points
I know not where my souls need to be
Leading me to somewhere insane
Ruptured beneath secrecy
I did not see myself birth
Nor has my body crumbled beneath the soil
My story is a line tangled between cuts
Split ends, misfortunes and empowered lucks.
But melt not your eyes, for my horizon shines wide
For all of these creatures making me glow inside.
A me yet to define
A me yet to be found
Hide, and I shall seek
Be lost, and I shall retreat
All the way back
-to my insanity."~Mia Persson, scraps
Nothing But Death
| "There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul. And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain. Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence. Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree. I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see, but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets, of violets that are at home in the earth, because the face of death is green, and the look death gives is green, with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf and the somber color of embittered winter. But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom, lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies, death is inside the broom, the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses, it is the needle of death looking for thread. Death is inside the folding cots: it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses, in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out: it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, and the beds go sailing toward a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral."~Pablo Neruda |
Nocturne (Nocturne)
"Silverclear this moonlit eve,
blue billow of the night,
countless sparkling waves roll in,
dancing in the light.
Shadows fall upon the road,
the bushes weep so soft and sore,
dark giants guard the silver of the shore.
Silence deep in summer’s midst,
sleep and dream, –
tender moon over the ocean,
white agleam."~Edith Södergran
Rot
"My skin itches
And I feel parasitic roaches clambering up my arched back,
Their little talons ripping through tissue and beating out a tattoo on bone,
Feeding from spinal fluid.
What's wrong with me?
I saw a star explode today.
It was the most painful experience.
Red.
Gold White.
Green.
Erupting behind closed lids
And rattling through my skull.
It set me off balance
And sent me stumbling for the restroom,
heaving on an empty stomach
No medicine seems to work.
Snakes of red have found homage in my eyes.
My skin has blotched pink
and my fever sky-rocketed
to extreme levels.
Vessels have burst open,
My eyes bled red
There is no white.
Mother has been shouting delusions today;
She says I have been marked by the Devil himself.
I just laughed at her.
At least I 'm not the one with demonic horns perched
On my brow like sick Christmas ornaments.
Silly demon mother,
All I have are these
Pretty-little-symbols lining my pretty-yellow-skin.
(You're just jealous.)
Daddy died six times today.
In six different ways.
I found it funny,
But he kept comin' back.
Lyrical voices echoed in my head
The whole time.
At least they laughed with me.
Mother just tried to feed me soup.
It scorched my tongue out from between my lips.
So I dumped it on her face.
It was rather amusing to watch
The skin peel away from the bone.
She screamed so loud.
Such a happy sound.
Ruby red blood burst from my lips just now,
Splashing on the pristine white floors
In such a stark contrast.
Such pretty, pretty colors.
My stomach will eventually explode.
I think it will be a beautiful display.
(I can't wait to see it.)
My veins have grown.
I love to play games with them,
Prying back my leathery skin
And pulling the red tube
Straight from my arm.
I bathed in my own blood today.
It poured from my mouth,
My gums,
My eyes,
My nose.
Every orifice.
I was smiling the entire time.
I was right, I was right,
My stomach did explode.
I was right, I was right,
It was so beautiful.
Beautiful as my brittle bones shattered.
Beautiful as my skin cracked open.
Beautiful as my veins exploded.
Lungs imploded.
Arms tore away.
And body collapsed.
Look Mommy, Look Mommy,
I'm a beautiful, rotten firecracker." ~Angelia Shea Faulkner
And I feel parasitic roaches clambering up my arched back,
Their little talons ripping through tissue and beating out a tattoo on bone,
Feeding from spinal fluid.
What's wrong with me?
I saw a star explode today.
It was the most painful experience.
Red.
Gold White.
Green.
Erupting behind closed lids
And rattling through my skull.
It set me off balance
And sent me stumbling for the restroom,
heaving on an empty stomach
No medicine seems to work.
Snakes of red have found homage in my eyes.
My skin has blotched pink
and my fever sky-rocketed
to extreme levels.
Vessels have burst open,
My eyes bled red
There is no white.
Mother has been shouting delusions today;
She says I have been marked by the Devil himself.
I just laughed at her.
At least I 'm not the one with demonic horns perched
On my brow like sick Christmas ornaments.
Silly demon mother,
All I have are these
Pretty-little-symbols lining my pretty-yellow-skin.
(You're just jealous.)
Daddy died six times today.
In six different ways.
I found it funny,
But he kept comin' back.
Lyrical voices echoed in my head
The whole time.
At least they laughed with me.
Mother just tried to feed me soup.
It scorched my tongue out from between my lips.
So I dumped it on her face.
It was rather amusing to watch
The skin peel away from the bone.
She screamed so loud.
Such a happy sound.
Ruby red blood burst from my lips just now,
Splashing on the pristine white floors
In such a stark contrast.
Such pretty, pretty colors.
My stomach will eventually explode.
I think it will be a beautiful display.
(I can't wait to see it.)
My veins have grown.
I love to play games with them,
Prying back my leathery skin
And pulling the red tube
Straight from my arm.
I bathed in my own blood today.
It poured from my mouth,
My gums,
My eyes,
My nose.
Every orifice.
I was smiling the entire time.
I was right, I was right,
My stomach did explode.
I was right, I was right,
It was so beautiful.
Beautiful as my brittle bones shattered.
Beautiful as my skin cracked open.
Beautiful as my veins exploded.
Lungs imploded.
Arms tore away.
And body collapsed.
Look Mommy, Look Mommy,
I'm a beautiful, rotten firecracker." ~Angelia Shea Faulkner
The Path (Le Chemin)
"J'ai le souvenir de sentir le pas pesant,
Alourdi par la tristesse, d'êtres vivants,
Devinant dans la brume d'un petit matin,
L'ombre d'Humains vissée, serrée par le chagrin.
Très haut perchée, au faîte d'un arbre gardien,
Dans cette vallée, d'un village canadien,
Une tourterelle grise, gémit son chant,
Par roucoulements, aux pèlerins, s'unissant.
La marche funèbre s'enclenche. En crescendo.
Ils cheminent, famille, amis, sur mon dos.
L'air se déchire. Mille larmes sanglotées,
Par l'enfant de l'homme, aujourd'hui décédé.
Tenu par six porteurs à l'épaule voûtée,
Pliés sous le poids du cercueil de bois clouté.
C'est pour l'être cher, cette mise en terre,
Ce droit au chapelain et à ses prières.
Pour ce souvenir, de la date et du nom,
Sur la stèle, plaque gravée, l'inscription.
Un lieu à offrir pour le recueillement,
Aux enfants du temps présent et d'un futur temps.
Je suis par qui arrivent les trépassés,
Je suis né du premier mortel enterré,
Je suis forgé d'empreintes oubliées,
Je suis chemin, à la fois, terre et graviers.
Par passages obligés de gens éprouvés,
Je me suis creusé, usé, au fil des années,
En deux sillons, générés par moultes foulées.
Je suis chemin, à la fois, Terre et Sacré." ~Célynar
Source
Alourdi par la tristesse, d'êtres vivants,
Devinant dans la brume d'un petit matin,
L'ombre d'Humains vissée, serrée par le chagrin.
Très haut perchée, au faîte d'un arbre gardien,
Dans cette vallée, d'un village canadien,
Une tourterelle grise, gémit son chant,
Par roucoulements, aux pèlerins, s'unissant.
La marche funèbre s'enclenche. En crescendo.
Ils cheminent, famille, amis, sur mon dos.
L'air se déchire. Mille larmes sanglotées,
Par l'enfant de l'homme, aujourd'hui décédé.
Tenu par six porteurs à l'épaule voûtée,
Pliés sous le poids du cercueil de bois clouté.
C'est pour l'être cher, cette mise en terre,
Ce droit au chapelain et à ses prières.
Pour ce souvenir, de la date et du nom,
Sur la stèle, plaque gravée, l'inscription.
Un lieu à offrir pour le recueillement,
Aux enfants du temps présent et d'un futur temps.
Je suis par qui arrivent les trépassés,
Je suis né du premier mortel enterré,
Je suis forgé d'empreintes oubliées,
Je suis chemin, à la fois, terre et graviers.
Par passages obligés de gens éprouvés,
Je me suis creusé, usé, au fil des années,
En deux sillons, générés par moultes foulées.
Je suis chemin, à la fois, Terre et Sacré." ~Célynar
Source
Lullaby (Vaggvisa)
The waste oil is drifting slowly ashore.
The berries are toxic like never before.
The berries are toxic like never before.
The cranes are leaving. The eagles have died.
The forest is spackled with pesticide.
The forest is spackled with pesticide.
Now sleep, little one. The night is near.
Soon we’ll have angels in gas masks here.
~Helmer Grundstrom
Soon we’ll have angels in gas masks here.
~Helmer Grundstrom
Buds in Winter
A lifeless void to the night yet to come
My heart, a rose
Who's fate is to be picked and die in your palm
But should you ever leave it grow
Alone in the darkness
By dawn, the light will have washed away the blood red petals
And I'll mean nothing.~Mia Persson
My heart, a rose
Who's fate is to be picked and die in your palm
But should you ever leave it grow
Alone in the darkness
By dawn, the light will have washed away the blood red petals
And I'll mean nothing.~Mia Persson
Marine Blue
As the ocean tide grows strong
With the perfect mix of green an blue
I find out something's wrong
Something's missing between me and you
I feel this mix of emotions, like the colours of the sea
Just like green goes with blue,
You go with me
The wind starts to blow harder,
The smell of sorrow is in the air
And as I start counting the miles
I begin to despair
Wanting you so badly,
my miss starts to ache
I try to smile, but it is fake
I try not to cry, but it's too late
Tears fall down my cheek
Combining pleasure with confusion
In my dreams for you I seek
But dreams are nothing but an illusion
I want it to be real
I don't want to just imagine
And as I bite my lips
Greed turns into famine
Not yet rock solid,
But far from broken into bits
You've created a veil, that covers my heart
This veils is yours, and it perfectly fits
Wanting you badly doesn't seem enough
Wanting you more, just feels too tough
Handling the pressure -it's to much to bare
If I could be with you now, I would, I swear.
Just sitting here by the sea, waiting for the storm
As the clouds gently move tighter, the nightmare takes its form
Waiting in the distance, my patience starts to run
I start getting hasty, about when you're going to come
Your smile makes me smile
Your eyes make me freeze
I can feel my soul floating gently
Away with this cold breeze
The sky starts to get darker
I'm still wishing you were here
I kneel down and cross my arms
And imagine that you're near
Your fingers caught in my hair
Your sweet scent in the air
Your gentle voice, flowing by my ear
But in my eyes, you see only fear
Fear to lose, the thing I most need
Fear not to fulfil, my only greed
Feed me, feed my lust
Make me want more-take over my trust
I'd stay here forever, waiting as time goes by
I don't care where we are,
It's just you and I
I look down to the sea, and it is suddenly blue
I look to my side, and suddenly there's no more "you"
It's just me and this cliff top,
I'm just at the tip, waiting for the storm
Should I jump and go with you to perfection?
Or stay here consuming time with my indecision?
With one decision left to make
My eyes suddenly turn marine blue
As I look back at the sea,
There's your face, and it's smiling at me.
With the perfect mix of green an blue
I find out something's wrong
Something's missing between me and you
I feel this mix of emotions, like the colours of the sea
Just like green goes with blue,
You go with me
The wind starts to blow harder,
The smell of sorrow is in the air
And as I start counting the miles
I begin to despair
Wanting you so badly,
my miss starts to ache
I try to smile, but it is fake
I try not to cry, but it's too late
Tears fall down my cheek
Combining pleasure with confusion
In my dreams for you I seek
But dreams are nothing but an illusion
I want it to be real
I don't want to just imagine
And as I bite my lips
Greed turns into famine
Not yet rock solid,
But far from broken into bits
You've created a veil, that covers my heart
This veils is yours, and it perfectly fits
Wanting you badly doesn't seem enough
Wanting you more, just feels too tough
Handling the pressure -it's to much to bare
If I could be with you now, I would, I swear.
Just sitting here by the sea, waiting for the storm
As the clouds gently move tighter, the nightmare takes its form
Waiting in the distance, my patience starts to run
I start getting hasty, about when you're going to come
Your smile makes me smile
Your eyes make me freeze
I can feel my soul floating gently
Away with this cold breeze
The sky starts to get darker
I'm still wishing you were here
I kneel down and cross my arms
And imagine that you're near
Your fingers caught in my hair
Your sweet scent in the air
Your gentle voice, flowing by my ear
But in my eyes, you see only fear
Fear to lose, the thing I most need
Fear not to fulfil, my only greed
Feed me, feed my lust
Make me want more-take over my trust
I'd stay here forever, waiting as time goes by
I don't care where we are,
It's just you and I
I look down to the sea, and it is suddenly blue
I look to my side, and suddenly there's no more "you"
It's just me and this cliff top,
I'm just at the tip, waiting for the storm
Should I jump and go with you to perfection?
Or stay here consuming time with my indecision?
With one decision left to make
My eyes suddenly turn marine blue
As I look back at the sea,
There's your face, and it's smiling at me.
Concieved Counterpart
I see the darkness that shields your lies. Your pain. All those memories playing, over and over again in your head, driving you insane. I can still picture you despising every second of life I was ever given. Wanting to take it all away, make it disperse with the mist; to blind you, so everything loses its meaning.
Existence, it has no reason. Nothing needs a meaning, but you still want to justify my presence.
Your hate. Leave it alone.
No, don’t: unleash it, let your fury rage against my vulnerability. I have no defense, since your hate is nothing but a twinkle in insignificance’s eye.
Still, I wait for you to regret it all.
But waiting seems too long. Impatience. I want you to get over with it. If you can imagine the blade piercing my flesh, go grab that knife now. Stop planning, surprise me instead. Let that surreal feeling invade your veins, and that selfish smell of vengeance inflate your lungs.
The mist will get thicker, and you will lose control. I can see your smile ripping through the dark night sky, as I shriek, destabilizing the silence.
You’ll miss me, you know you will. But missing me won’t mean I’ll lack in you, you’ll be filled with memories of me. From the first moment I opened my eyes till now, my very last breath. And they’ll play over and over again, till you’re insane.
But this, you already are.
Now you grab hold of that knife, soaked in my blood, and carve it right through your heart.
Now, you no longer are insane.
Now, you aren’t at all.
Existence, it has no reason. Nothing needs a meaning, but you still want to justify my presence.
Your hate. Leave it alone.
No, don’t: unleash it, let your fury rage against my vulnerability. I have no defense, since your hate is nothing but a twinkle in insignificance’s eye.
Still, I wait for you to regret it all.
But waiting seems too long. Impatience. I want you to get over with it. If you can imagine the blade piercing my flesh, go grab that knife now. Stop planning, surprise me instead. Let that surreal feeling invade your veins, and that selfish smell of vengeance inflate your lungs.
The mist will get thicker, and you will lose control. I can see your smile ripping through the dark night sky, as I shriek, destabilizing the silence.
You’ll miss me, you know you will. But missing me won’t mean I’ll lack in you, you’ll be filled with memories of me. From the first moment I opened my eyes till now, my very last breath. And they’ll play over and over again, till you’re insane.
But this, you already are.
Now you grab hold of that knife, soaked in my blood, and carve it right through your heart.
Now, you no longer are insane.
Now, you aren’t at all.
Insanity's hush, a ballad before sleep, in my dreams I see graveyards where restless souls weep. Be cursed by their nature, their pleas do not feed, may silence cause a rupture for them to breathe. Names carved in gravestones, memories carved in bones, on the surface flowers die, down below are the kings' thrones. May sorrow be the only truth, loneliness the veredict, my wishes have no ruth, and dreams never come true.
Ingrid's Farewell
At the cimmerian light of dawn
The wind brisk comes
In through a window, welcoming a breath
One sleeping wakeless, the other awaiting death.
Dawn soon left and morning arouse still
Tip of the finger, ran past the sill
Frost chills come in as a warning
Time was yet striking.
Secrets forever hived, fresh to be forgotten
At the surface a masculine body with her hopes, lying rotten
In moments the mist will enter and all will turn brief
A knock,
A whisper,
A scream,
And a tender feeling of relief.
Her heart grown too old
And none felt her soul freeze
But the departure left everything told
Ingrid's farewell was anything but concise.
A glooming body, veins pulsating at the loss
Not alone, another senses her demise,
And steals the treasure of her eyes
Leaving a bright lake and a bridge to cross.
With no more decisions or hope to reverse
Ingrid's body now floats immerse.
The wind brisk comes
In through a window, welcoming a breath
One sleeping wakeless, the other awaiting death.
Dawn soon left and morning arouse still
Tip of the finger, ran past the sill
Frost chills come in as a warning
Time was yet striking.
Secrets forever hived, fresh to be forgotten
At the surface a masculine body with her hopes, lying rotten
In moments the mist will enter and all will turn brief
A knock,
A whisper,
A scream,
And a tender feeling of relief.
Her heart grown too old
And none felt her soul freeze
But the departure left everything told
Ingrid's farewell was anything but concise.
A glooming body, veins pulsating at the loss
Not alone, another senses her demise,
And steals the treasure of her eyes
Leaving a bright lake and a bridge to cross.
With no more decisions or hope to reverse
Ingrid's body now floats immerse.
The Altar Of Artemis
There, in the coppice, oak and pine
And mystic yew and elm are found,
Sweeping the skies, that grew divine
With the dark wind's despairing sound,
The wind that roars from the profound,
And smites the mountain-tops, and calls
Mute spirits to black festivals,
And feasts in valleys iron-bound,
Desolate crags, and barren ground;--
There in the strong storm-shaken grove
Swings the pale censer-fire for love.
The foursquare altar, roughly hewn,
And overlaid with beaten gold,
Stands in the gloom; the stealthy tune
Of singing maidens overbold
Desires mad mysteries untold,
With strange eyes kindling, as the fleet
Implacable untiring feet
Weave mystic figures manifold
That draw down angels to behold
The moving music, and the fire
Of their intolerable desire.
For, maddening to fiercer thought,
The fiery limbs requicken, wheel
In formless furies, subtly wrought
Of swifter melodies than steel
That flashes in the fight: the peal
Of amorous laughters choking sense,
And madness kissing violence,
Ring like dead horsemen; bodies reel
Drunken with motion; spirits feel
The strange constraint of gods that clip
From Heaven to mingle lip and lip.
The gods descend to dance; the noise
Of hungry kissings, as a swoon,
Faints for excess of its own joys,
And mystic beams assail the moon,
With flames of their infernal noon;
While the smooth incense, without breath,
Spreads like some scented flower of death,
Over the grove; the lover's boon
Of sleep shall steal upon them soon,
And lovers' lips, from lips withdrawn,
Seek dimmer bosoms till the dawn.
Yet on the central altar lies
The sacrament of kneaded bread,
With blood made one, the sacrifice
To those, the living, who are dead--
Strange gods and goddesses, that shed
Monstrous desires of secret things
Upon their worshippers, from wings
One lucent web of light, from head
One labyrinthine passion-fed
Palace of love, from breathing rife
With secrets of forbidden life.
But not the sunlight, nor the stars,
Nor any light but theirs alone,
Nor iron masteries of Mars,
Nor Saturn's misconceiving zone,
Nor any planet's may be shown,
Within the circle of the grove,
Where burn the sanctities of love:
Nor may the foot of man be known,
Nor evil eyes of mothers thrown
On maidens that desire the kiss
Only of maiden Artemis.
But horned and huntress from the skies,
She bends her lips upon the breeze,
And pure and perfect in her eyes,
Burn magical virginity's
Sweet intermittent sorceries.
When the slow wind from her sweet word
In all their conchéd ears is heard.
And like the slumber of the seas,
There murmur through the holy trees
The kisses of the goddess keen,
And sighs and laughters caught between.
For, swooning at the fervid lips
Of Artemis, the maiden kisses
Sobs and the languid body slips
Down to enamelled wildernesses.
Fallen and loose the shaken tresses;
Fallen the sandal and girdling gold,
Fallen the music manifold
Of moving limbs and strange caresses,
And deadly passion that possesses
The magic ecstasy of these
Mad maidens, tender as blue seas.
Night spreads her yearning pinions,
The baffled day sinks blind to sleep;
The evening breeze outswoons the sun's
Dead kisses to the swooning deep.
Upsoars the moon; the flashing steep
Of Heaven is fragrant for her feet;
The perfume of the grove is sweet
As slumbering women furtive creep
To bosoms where small kisses weep,
And find in fervent dreams the kiss
Most memoried of Artemis.
Impenetrable pleasure dies
Beneath the madness of new dreams;
The slow sweet breath is turned to sighs
More musical than many streams
Under the moving silver beams,
Fretted with stars, thrice woven across.
White limbs in amorous slumber toss,
Like sleeping foam, whose silver gleams
On motionless dark seas; it seems
As if some gentle spirit stirred,
Their lazy brows with some swift word.
So, in the secret of the shrine,
Night keeps them nestled, so the gloom
Laps them in waves as smooth as wine,
As glowing as the fiery womb
Of some young tigress, dark as doom,
And swift as sunrise. Love's content
Builds its own monument,
And carves above its vaulted tomb
The Phoenix on her fiery plume,
To their own souls to testify
Their kisses' immortality.
~Aleister Crowley
And mystic yew and elm are found,
Sweeping the skies, that grew divine
With the dark wind's despairing sound,
The wind that roars from the profound,
And smites the mountain-tops, and calls
Mute spirits to black festivals,
And feasts in valleys iron-bound,
Desolate crags, and barren ground;--
There in the strong storm-shaken grove
Swings the pale censer-fire for love.
The foursquare altar, roughly hewn,
And overlaid with beaten gold,
Stands in the gloom; the stealthy tune
Of singing maidens overbold
Desires mad mysteries untold,
With strange eyes kindling, as the fleet
Implacable untiring feet
Weave mystic figures manifold
That draw down angels to behold
The moving music, and the fire
Of their intolerable desire.
For, maddening to fiercer thought,
The fiery limbs requicken, wheel
In formless furies, subtly wrought
Of swifter melodies than steel
That flashes in the fight: the peal
Of amorous laughters choking sense,
And madness kissing violence,
Ring like dead horsemen; bodies reel
Drunken with motion; spirits feel
The strange constraint of gods that clip
From Heaven to mingle lip and lip.
The gods descend to dance; the noise
Of hungry kissings, as a swoon,
Faints for excess of its own joys,
And mystic beams assail the moon,
With flames of their infernal noon;
While the smooth incense, without breath,
Spreads like some scented flower of death,
Over the grove; the lover's boon
Of sleep shall steal upon them soon,
And lovers' lips, from lips withdrawn,
Seek dimmer bosoms till the dawn.
Yet on the central altar lies
The sacrament of kneaded bread,
With blood made one, the sacrifice
To those, the living, who are dead--
Strange gods and goddesses, that shed
Monstrous desires of secret things
Upon their worshippers, from wings
One lucent web of light, from head
One labyrinthine passion-fed
Palace of love, from breathing rife
With secrets of forbidden life.
But not the sunlight, nor the stars,
Nor any light but theirs alone,
Nor iron masteries of Mars,
Nor Saturn's misconceiving zone,
Nor any planet's may be shown,
Within the circle of the grove,
Where burn the sanctities of love:
Nor may the foot of man be known,
Nor evil eyes of mothers thrown
On maidens that desire the kiss
Only of maiden Artemis.
But horned and huntress from the skies,
She bends her lips upon the breeze,
And pure and perfect in her eyes,
Burn magical virginity's
Sweet intermittent sorceries.
When the slow wind from her sweet word
In all their conchéd ears is heard.
And like the slumber of the seas,
There murmur through the holy trees
The kisses of the goddess keen,
And sighs and laughters caught between.
For, swooning at the fervid lips
Of Artemis, the maiden kisses
Sobs and the languid body slips
Down to enamelled wildernesses.
Fallen and loose the shaken tresses;
Fallen the sandal and girdling gold,
Fallen the music manifold
Of moving limbs and strange caresses,
And deadly passion that possesses
The magic ecstasy of these
Mad maidens, tender as blue seas.
Night spreads her yearning pinions,
The baffled day sinks blind to sleep;
The evening breeze outswoons the sun's
Dead kisses to the swooning deep.
Upsoars the moon; the flashing steep
Of Heaven is fragrant for her feet;
The perfume of the grove is sweet
As slumbering women furtive creep
To bosoms where small kisses weep,
And find in fervent dreams the kiss
Most memoried of Artemis.
Impenetrable pleasure dies
Beneath the madness of new dreams;
The slow sweet breath is turned to sighs
More musical than many streams
Under the moving silver beams,
Fretted with stars, thrice woven across.
White limbs in amorous slumber toss,
Like sleeping foam, whose silver gleams
On motionless dark seas; it seems
As if some gentle spirit stirred,
Their lazy brows with some swift word.
So, in the secret of the shrine,
Night keeps them nestled, so the gloom
Laps them in waves as smooth as wine,
As glowing as the fiery womb
Of some young tigress, dark as doom,
And swift as sunrise. Love's content
Builds its own monument,
And carves above its vaulted tomb
The Phoenix on her fiery plume,
To their own souls to testify
Their kisses' immortality.
~Aleister Crowley
Funeral
Stolen the flowers for littler grace
Printed a fake smile on my face
Unstabled soul - damage done
And now I mirror your past.
~Mia Persson
Printed a fake smile on my face
Unstabled soul - damage done
And now I mirror your past.
~Mia Persson
Harness
I call your name upon the woods
Echoes roaring but no sound is heard
Stillness, memory shattered
Meaningless, to me.
Fallen, my knees on the ground
Soil tender, moist and brown
The dirt on my heart,
The dirtiest of stains
Meaningless to me.
Thus does the wind blow your scent ahead
Thus comes rushing many of the words you said
Thus am I no one.
Rise again I'm clad in white
I'm here forever, but not tonight
The moon sees my sins,
The woods dive right in.
Echoes roaring but no sound is heard
Stillness, memory shattered
Meaningless, to me.
Fallen, my knees on the ground
Soil tender, moist and brown
The dirt on my heart,
The dirtiest of stains
Meaningless to me.
Thus does the wind blow your scent ahead
Thus comes rushing many of the words you said
Thus am I no one.
Rise again I'm clad in white
I'm here forever, but not tonight
The moon sees my sins,
The woods dive right in.
Meaningless to me.
Thus do I recall your voice
Thus do I shiver, newborn I rejoice
Thus I am no one.
~Mia Persson
Thus do I recall your voice
Thus do I shiver, newborn I rejoice
Thus I am no one.
~Mia Persson
For Us There Is No Death
For us there is no death.
Rest here merely bones.
Around you love’s in flower,
Zero though our breath,
Etched into these stones.
Read and feel its power.
Rest here merely bones.
Around you love’s in flower,
Zero though our breath,
Etched into these stones.
Read and feel its power.
~Nicholas Gordon
The Inglorious Dead
How could I not be surprised
As death before my eyes rose
Filling my face with a gloomy light
The dark lord appears only by night.
Be not afraid, he cries to the dead
Wait for my scythe to deliver me your head
A subtle move, so gentle and smooth
And off with the head, the inglorious dead.
So sour
The smell of rotting corpses and foul souls
Twisting in the air
Despair, condensed with the tears
All those poor ones cried so greatly
As Death came to serve its duty.
I promised not to fear
Though I’m not the dead he talked to
I’m a living soul, with a mind so clear
I have only one wish, and it is to grow old
But just in case Death decides other
My mistakes be all judged
Just to create as an outcome
A punishment to bare forever
I want to rest my body under the grieving earth
But my soul must awake my essence
And make you feel my presence
To haunt your life is what I yearn for
But I must wait till Death knocks on my door.
I told him my story he beforehand knew
I shared with him all my requests about you
He takes no notice, he just wants my head
And with one quick glance, he slices my throat,
Rips out my heart
Cracks open the ground
My body tombs down,
Myself as a cloud left to haunt my crowd
I’m just a lost soul, a burden you will bare.
Your smell, in the air
The scent makes me ravenous
I begin to despair, as it becomes hazardous
But I have no lungs to breathe
No nerves to feel
How to know if this is real?
I finally come to an ironic peace
And find where you are, with Death by my side
You sense I’m near, and with great fear
You search for somewhere safe to hide
You run inside
Frightened, to Death.
Be not afraid, I cry to the dead
I grab the scythe and relish your head
With a subtle move of pleasure and regret
And off with her head, the inglorious dead!
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