'Rhyme without reason.'

Stolen by the false prophet in my soul, Reading into this. Corners stand in focus, Folding me in bends. Scream a howl into the moon, Allow yourself to end. Vex the irrigation in your skin, Recall the past before, Grace the twilight with your song, Break the coming soul. Survival of the fittest, In an evening made of black, Bringing us to fault lines, From which we can’t retract... Retrace the paths of yesterday, Minds eye a symmetry unknown; Unparallel to nothing, Trapeze on which we swing, Swallow up the emptiness, And once again we’ll sing. Listen to the constancy, A repeat.  A repeat. Servitude knows nothing, But to kneel at our feet! Stolen by the false prophet in my soul, Writing onto this. Watch the words in focus, Twist the very bends. Then realize... That all may truly be, A nothing in my eye. But everything to no-none, In a world that i spy, A universe i mould, As i paint these pictures poor, i hope you understand me, As we carry on a little more. The truth it is so simple, My words are just a vein, Carrying my emptiness, That i truly can’t explain, A judgment i adhere, i understand the twist, Calenture infest me, Here ends this little list, Of ready made examples; The insanity inside, i’m sorry for the ramble, i created with this rhyme. Written March 28th, 2002 © on Mar 28 2002 03:34 AM PST, harry luck    0 • 10