Language of Gods above
And to Hell abide,
Taught once more to speak.
Such are the violent tides.
Show yourself unto the dawn,
And with your growling guide,
Show me eagle, wild cat, and fawn,
And within them, I’ll confide.
Stand amidst the stage’s brilliant lights,
The script inside your mind,
And speak the words you were taught to speak,
And think the thoughts you were breed to think,
And feel the emotions you were made to feel,
And in the wake of the cynical spotlight,
Sing a muted soliloquy
For all to hear but me.
Wafted into darkened midday,
And into deafening silence,
Once again, please parlay
The look of a demon’s glance.
And I shall sit,
Simply sit,
And I’ll sip my tea,
Looking out
Into the sky,
Or a “turf tormented sea.”
As we sit among the sands and wonder why we are wrong,
We will hear from the clouds, the angel’s shrieking song.
Rather would I choose to listen
To lustful demon’s tune,
Than ever prefer to be ‘blessed’ with an choirous afternoon.
The demon is cast in shades of red, gold, and hell
While angels wings are cold,
A dull bell.
For the stories a bell
ever seem to tell
Are limited to the tales of ding
And the story of dong.
While when looking at the demon’s song,
Is all combined of evil and dignity,
The tales you can tell, in a muted soliloquy.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Catacombs of the Soul
Short Story"They who dream by day are cognizantof many things which escape those who dream only by night." Edgar Allan Poe. A collection of short stories and poems written over the years by Alexis Pool.
