Anything rhythmically or structurally varied from general fiction.
I don’t want to go home,
smell the flames and death,
taste madness in the air.
Despair.
I’d rather drown
in a pitch-thick abyss,
than a sea of bright lies.
Realize.
I’d prefer a painful truth,
over comfortable nothings,
and watching them spread.
Dread.
Given the choice ‘tween,
happy lies, dark truths,
I choose the latter,
for nothing will extinguish truth’s glow.
Know.
Reality fades,
the universe with it.
Learn why,
defy.
Cold wind blows,
over ice-trapped crests.
The waves don’t crash,
for they too are frozen,
immobile,
immutable.
Sun sinks low.
Invisible behind gray skies.
No colors shift:
neither from red to orange,
nor blue to black.
There is,
only gray.
There is no warm.
No cold.
Only frigid.
And blistering.
The latter’s nowhere to be found,
in a season of the former.
Still we wish,
hope and dream,
of warmer days,
and sights unseen,
but they never come,
and though avast,
we seek them out,
with due alas.
Written in blood,
runic and carved,
the words of a prophet,
foretold of the Earth.
Of man’s rise and fall.
Of his towering ego.
Of human existence,
spurned on by libido.
It said, too,
one day he would end,
into darkness descend,
devoured by that,
which once birthed him.
Between one and the other,
was an epic of wonder,
of whimsy and intrigue,
betrayal and greed.
What more could one ask for,
from prophet or fortune,
but to blaze like a star,
rise like a mountain,
then sink again,
into ever present night,
from a reality that bore it,
into a long goodnight?
Nothing.
Nothing,
it’s said,
and so forever be it.
For if we must be tempered,
by darkness for greatness,
who are we to pick and choose?
No-one
for these are the whims,
of the cosmic re-balance.
Gimme’ the sun.
Gimme’ the wind.
Gimme’ the ocean.
Gimme’ the land.
For it is all,
that I hold dear,
but I’d also,
like to hold it near.
Gimme’ the rain.
Gimme’ the snow.
Gimme’ a heat-wave.
Gimme’ some cold.
For all of these things,
have molded me;
over generations,
through eternities.
Gimme’ my love.
Gimme’ my life.
Gimme’ a hope.
Gimme’ a breath.
For these I need,
to carry on,
as anyone,
calling themselves human.
Gimme’ no sorrow.
Gimme’ no pain.
Gimme’ no anger.
Gimme’ no hate.
Unless, of course,
you take it from another.
For I may be bold,
but can be humble,
and if given the choice,
‘tween me and you
I’d choose the latter,
hoping you might too.
For only then might we be even,
and only then might others see,
that if we all gave so freely,
none of us would know need.
Wordsmith of Sol 