There is a magnificence
that cannot be put into words.
This magnificence transcends royalty
and is beyond good and evil.
It is beyond divinity.
This magnificence is the lover
of all things beautiful and ugly.
You and I will never understand
We are but passing thoughts,
of a semblance of an idea
inside of this magnificence.
It is without beginning.
It is without end.
It is without.
It is with.
There is a magnificence
During my stay in the forest listening silently,
the leaves rustle ever so quietly,
ever so quietly…
Until this toxic desire defiling me
dies violently in a maelstrom of my design
I’ll try to find that seething fire,
the all-consuming flame that stays
just outside of my clutch but has such
power that it can’t be ignored.
The distant roaring calls me toward it
like waves returning to the shore,
but one day I’m sure,
after our suffering is cured,
all that will be left is to soar through
eternity with all we’ve adored.
As snow falls on the gravestones,
the city sleeps in peace
and a sparrow makes its way home.
For a moment my worries cease,
but I know that it won’t last long;
as long as the moon keeps
me in her good graces ’cause it’s known
that as soon as the sun greets
me on the horizon all ambition will be gone.
I’d like to write light onto the page,
or anything to make darkness fade,
but nighttime has my spirit caged
and every time I try to change
something about it feels too strange.
In my folly I’ve been drawn to melancholy,
dismissing empathy and neglecting love
with no benefit to speak thereof.
My heart hasn’t gave way to malice,
but this apathy will turn to callous
if I never attempt to battle it.
Pen in hand, this misfit commits
to splitting a befitting fate down the middle,
or just whittling away little by little,
whatever it takes to vanquish this fake wish
to hit the brakes or never make it at all.
“Play Dead” by Björk is one of those songs I love too much to stay silent about, so I’m going to write a minor piece on it. I’ve yet to come across anyone who appreciates this song as much as me, which is a tad disappointing, but I suppose nobody can be blamed. You appreciate in music what you can relate to, and I daresay this is a hard song to feel a connection with if you lead a normal happy life. I feel that people who suffer from depression would be more likely to gravitate toward it, but I could be wrong.
“Darling…stop confusing me with your wishful thinking.”
What’s interesting to me about the lyrics here is that she could be talking to someone else, or she could be talking to herself. I like to interpret it as the latter, personally. Her words hint at this sort of duality within, and an inner struggle taking place wherein she desires to be held and loved but knows it’s not possible, so she tells herself that she belongs in a different mindset to deal with the pain. Not only deal with the pain, but as the song goes on, completely accept and even embrace it.
“I nestle into pain
caress every ache.”
This song has a darker tone to it, which I’m often a fan of. It’s not only dark though, in a way I feel it’s also triumphant, in the sense that she conquers her pain. The orchestral music that makes up the bulk of the instrumental helps to accentuate that feeling of triumph.
The way she sings this though is something that could only be done by Björk and is what elevates the song to another level. “Play Dead”, for me, justifies why she’s considered one of the greatest singers ever. Her voice is just dripping with emotion the entire song, and goes far beyond that in some parts. Around the 1:37 mark in particular is the peak of the emotional content I feel, also repeated around 2:52, where she abandons words completely to convey emotion that simply cannot be explained, only expressed in her own way or felt by the listener.
It is visceral. It is pure. It is sublime.
And if you’re one of the souls lucky enough to feel what is expressed here, it can bring you to tears.
Rose petals fall to the ground as the sound
of a love song once strong is fading, fading, gone.
Loyalty forsaken and chaos awakened,
any sense of security is taken and
the victims are now lost.
Fingers crossed they survive the frost
when a heart of gold grows cold;
see the handhold becomes a chokehold
when viewed from another lens.
Friends can’t always cleanse impending
sadness, and if sanity isn’t clasped
it can make way for madness.
Imagine what starts to happen when
a crack in your zen emerges;
flirt with disturbance too much and
you become submerged in cursory urges
until a divergence occurs
from the path that brings salvation.
I’m grateful for your support and never-ending love;
how I know you’ll still be there if push comes to shove
and if worst comes to worst you’ll watch from above.
And even though I’ve not done much to be proud of,
I’m sure that you love me as much as my father
or just as much as your precious granddaughter.
But even if not, that’d still be okay,
because I know that I’m loved in my own special way.
Although it’s true I’m no longer a baby,
I’ll always look up to you ’cause you raised me.
So thank you for being my guardian angel,
because if I were in your shoes I’m not sure I’d be able.
But most of all,
and know this is true,
there’s certainly no other;
and needless to say, I speak for my brother,
when I say that I’m grateful to call you my mother.
The raging flame of inspiration burns bright briefly in the night,
singing all songs and telling all tales in a cacophony of white noise.
Discerned only by the seeker navigating an ocean of possibility,
alone in their endeavor the abyss is braved for the purpose of creation.
Every avenue of self-expression equally valid and each work
improving upon and transcending the being that forged it.
A sacred role of souls serving as a beacon for the future,
one by one designing the crescendo until the symphony
is concluded, and the audience prepares itself for an encore.
Only when it rains does weather bring the gift of solace,
soothing my forgotten discontent for a short while
until the healing process has run its course.
Only when it rains can I feel nature’s loving embrace,
washing over all woe and worry to give breath
to a dying appreciation for life and beauty.
Only when it rains is the balance to my psyche restored,
and discord torn apart to form a perfect harmony
that cradles my spirit inside its nurturing lullaby.
Only when it rains does a tranquility exist
so pure it can pause chaos and paint a fleeting
dreamscape that envelopes reality completely.
Only when it rains am I reminded that heaven
is not without sympathy for those still in turmoil,
and so I reach out to grasp the offered olive branch.