Monday, April 22, 2002

 
Up in the Heritage House abounds
A tribute in blood fed to the hounds.
In a book of red velour,
Which sits in a room of decayed decor,
The tale of strife and gloom
Foretells the life and doom
Of its transient guests
Who end their stay in halls abreast
With whispers of disbelief
And cries of blessed grief.

A vase in the corner, draped in shadow.
Upon the face of its translucent surface
Stands a story other stories forgot,
A tale of vivacity in strokes of poignant black
Between white spaces darker than mystery’s eye.

Tilted up to the moon are heads of stars,
Vacant in crystal skies like loose pearls
Spinning and moving to a drum with no certain rhythm.
Eyes dart back and forth, a sojourn of confusion
As erratic as a smile blanketed in tears.

Black petals fall where vultures lay.
Flakes of snow betray the cold.
Dead denizens of wicked flesh creep
While blind litanies sacrifice a ballad.
Stars fall in liquid fire
And civilization dies…

The signal invites the song
The eve of tomorrow cries out
A melody in time beats steady
And the Children will rise…

An end to a beginning to the end
Coiled in wait upon the teeming shore
Where blind hate and bitter understanding
Take truth apart to render down the sheltered
Ashamed and stripped bare in condemnation…

When the shroud of mystery grows
Let in the Light of understanding.
Through it, the Lady in Waiting
Will escort you to a land of wonder.

I wish to be like the fish in the sea
Without a care in the world
No stress in a land of endless color.

James posted this at 7:30 PM.