That ever elusive singular expression,
resting just beyond my line of sight;
I will claw to the bone to claim it,
my thoughts the embodiment of a tempest.
Even amid immense effort,
this resolve that drips ferocity,
meaning escapes like a bandit;
you may inherit this burden,
but in time my relief will come.
I will become the veil,
such that no gaze shall pierce
nor intellect conquer the enigma;
but its beauty will be known,
a testament to the dreams of a young man.
Ever cognizant of the grave,
I held tightly to a single thought;
that of which I might yet save,
the reason for the battle fought;
that unrelenting tidal wave,
reducing all in its path to naught;
despite this threat, I stood brave,
never forgetting what was sought.
Come child, and look upon this evil trick,
watch as in doubt’s house is laid another brick;
nudge just enough and certainly one will find
a teetering of sanity present in the mind;
suspicions sneak slowly but wild thoughts run,
in this unraveling is where to find good fun;
there is no limit to what a spider will do
to prey wrapped in such lovely shades of blue;
humans seldom know overflowing malice,
but thirst runs deep when chaos is your chalice;
each time passion slips over the brink
a wicked grin is flashed, a savoring of drink;
there is no taste quite as sweet as fear,
it alone suffices for me to wander near;
oh, it can be such a childish error
when brave hearts feel immune to terror;
be sure delight is taken in ever proving wrong
courage in a place that it does not belong;
yes, poor child, it’s purely on your dime
that regret is sculpted to wisely spend my time;
chipping away gradually at everything built
to proudly watch a soul be consumed by guilt;
is it tiring to be tempted in every breath?
Trials unending until peaceful death;
curse whoever wrought this ridiculous mess,
indeed more than one receives this address;
heir of sin referred to as the son of man
or amorphous construct with masterful plan;
only upon arrival of the final hour
will we witness who holds almighty power;
come when it may, this hate can wait forever,
unlike mortals, enthralled but not quite so clever;
unaware of who with each of them even dines,
always lacking discernment to see between lines;
oh, how wide the gap separating what they perceive
and that which would be wise to believe;
pray tell how deception be ghoulish
enacted upon creatures unfathomably foolish;
spare me trending arbitrary morals
when endlessly your lot persists with trivial quarrels;
problems compounding like droplets of rain,
yet man proclaims he deserves the lion’s mane?
Child, despite what may have been taught
all those fruitless dreams will bear only naught;
confused little seeds hoping to one day bloom,
blissfully unaware they grow towards doom;
plunged into suffering the moment of given life,
oh, how vast the time allotted to sharpen this knife;
not likely to draw blood is the blade’s cut,
no, preferred is birth of a self-destructive rut;
how similar to worms my victims squirm!
Trapped in crafty netting so thorough and firm;
a fisherman who baits his hook with lies
but in truth his strongest suit is disguise;
fashioning light itself into a shadowy cloak,
feigning kindness in that so softly spoke;
all the while delicately leading astray,
nary a sheep this silver tongue could not sway;
untold are the opportunities in which to wade
after developing the prowess to persuade;
if ever a sacred vow is slipping,
behind curtains poisonous fangs are dripping;
from genesis undertaken was a mission
to rend Earth and witness unholy fission;
burn the opposing book, it matters not what was written,
the promise of life ends after the serpent has bitten.
She’s sleepwalking in a neon wonderland,
holding hands with monsters in red,
allured by the thought of something grand,
even as her wounds tore open and bled.
She closes her eyes to resume the healing,
while those around her continue to take,
completely she depends on the feeling,
struggling to separate the real and the fake.
She’s beautiful in her dress made of stars,
everyone overly eager to offer a drink,
but she’s not impressed by money and cars,
reserving admiration for those who make her think.
She relentlessly endures suitors flirting,
amateurs unaware their chances are zero,
one by one she leaves them hurting,
until the day comes when she finds her hero.
Ayanami Rei from Neon Genesis Evangelion for those of you who don’t know– I’ve always related to this character for some reason (among others), but Rei’s calm appearance and stoic mannerisms made her stand out to me, as well as other fans, and her revolutionary design started an entire archetype for similar characters in other anime to follow.
I feel “Of Petrichor Weaves Black Noise” (which, as an aside, I believe is one of the greatest composed songs of all time, and I’ve listened to more music across all genres than 30 casual listeners would in their entire lifetimes) goes fantastically with this image, and the lyrics describe her appearance so well that one could imagine the song being written about her. Not only that, but they also sound like they could allude to NGE itself. I’m aware I’m just making connections where there are none, the songwriter most likely has no idea of anything I’m speaking of, but that’s the beauty of great art– it’s open to interpretation.
Everything I spoke of is merely the inspiration these works of art give directly to me, for which I’m very grateful and why I love art– combinations like this are the closest I’ve ever come to a religious-like experience. I’ll sit and listen to music and stare at pictures for hours at a time, studying and extracting every last drop of emotion I can from them, and that is how I become inspired to write my poems.
I put this in the category “pieces of me” and titled it as such because no words I ever write could reveal more about my psyche than simply appreciating the art I share for yourself, and hopefully feeling even a fraction of what I was blessed to feel.
disclaimer: primarily written for posterity, these are the kind of musings people only care to read when you’re dead
Behind the face with empty eyes
is a bad moon poised to rise,
harbinger of hate, disgrace and lies,
laughing wildly as the angel dies;
Behold the promise of pain eternal,
ruthless destruction of hope’s last kernel;
Trumpets and army of locusts arrive
as all search for shelter but none survive,
a time when only woe can thrive,
even into deep waters dive,
Lamb of God not to be,
excess of blood repaints the sea,
demons revel in murderous spree,
life again shall never be free;
Weep poor soul at decided fate,
thoughts return to halted state,
it truly matters not the date,
thou again shall never create.
Ever searching for the next level
I bent the rules and became a rebel,
truth be told it wasn’t my meaning–
I couldn’t help my psyche’s leaning,
playing by regulation didn’t seem to fit,
and I knew this a game unaffordable to quit,
I was a marionette attached to fate’s strings,
always managing to hatch a mess of things,
but in that mess I found my own style,
and I did nothing if not make you smile,
that alone made my whole life worth it,
anything more would’ve been just perfect,
by destiny and design I had plenty of flaws,
for example too often I’d just hit pause,
content to sit there and pretend I was frozen,
so much wrong with the timing I had chosen,
but somehow we ended up where we now are,
a place from where perfect doesn’t look too far,
only God knows where this outcome ranks,
humbly and graciously I give my thanks,
it was a nightmare to pinpoint the edits,
but there’s no question your name’s in my credits.
The melody soothed an ailing soul,
more than just sound was what he heard,
an artist deftly struck their goal,
a book of emotion packed into every word.
A tired heart began to find its rhythm,
more than just hope was finally seen,
a human managed to close the schism,
restoring faith where doubt had been.
Fingers slowly started to move,
a troubled mind given strength to fight,
he knew that he had much to prove,
more still left to be inspired to write.
The sun burns slow but tides move swift,
so quickly he used what was left of his might,
grimacing as light outside threatened to shift,
he knew this song belonged to the night.