The present is a creation,
It is used against the weak to relief them from the fear of tomorrow
Now, is just a synthetic thread of
Obsession
A sheer thread of the nonexistent
Now, is the dying salvation of crossing the road.
The future;
A perception from the past
Of what is now -
Tomorrow will be yesterday
And today will never be
Time is just the counted lies of our deathless juvenescence
Time is the union of dead stars
Having to awaken from the violent sadistic energies of the demon's prayers
Time is a constant step of repetition
Time is the revelation of what earth has obscured
Time is a heart that fails to love
A heart that fails to fathom the falls it fell
A heart that quivers for words un-recited
A heart longing to kiss the wounds of the skeletal youth of what life was like
Of what it could be
Kisses thirsty for the salty lies running down "victims" cheeks
Kisses hidden in the screams of the devil's naive sinners.
And as his eyes averted to the ticking clock
He bled the blues of the wasted time he's wasted on me
The countless fires he tended to breath
Ignited the bones of weeping willows
And as the wind swept the ash
Art was reborn
The art of broken bones
And of floral lungs
That drown in his loved ones' decay
The earth, in moving time
Did not paint art
Yet have managed to create it
It was found in his blindness
As his conception depicted the ocean battling with the shore
He was I -
And I, he
He was the mind
That failed to claw on the trapped emotions of his inner brute.
And as time authored death
Astrology was the gratitude of the devil's foreign hisses.
