The writings of Oddpoet
I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Archive for November 22nd, 2009

The Chrysalis

Sun ,22/11/2009

I slith­ered out of the Chrysalis
The all know­ing Raven chuck­led
“You have not yet devolved.”
“You will be back”
thought briefly I should snap its neck
But he was stronger than I could ever be.



I parted the veil
And entered the night
Dark­ness is a gift
To be trea­sured.
A blan­ket of false deceit
Truth’s rev­e­la­tion.
The light lies
Dark­ness knows all



The cold air
Washes over me
A brief still­ing of mol­e­c­u­lar motion.
The caress of an icy hand
Tells me
“Warmth makes you sleep”
“She is the false touch”



The Cold is Dark’s friend
Not so secret lovers
Eter­nally con­spir­ing



I knew I was tres­pass­ing
Tread­ing paths not meant for me
Yet I felt the need
To see
To feel
This aban­doned Play­ground



Sleep­ing Man­nequins
Being recharged
Repro­grammed
New dia­logue being writ­ten by wraiths
Their tooth­less smiles plan­ning new heartaches
A child will be raped on this stage
A human heart will stop beat­ing
I could not stop it
Tears froze



I slith­ered back into the Chrysalis
The all know­ing Raven chuck­led
“I knew you would be back”
“You have not yet devolved”
I wanted to snap its neck
But he was stronger than I could ever be

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My Butterfly

Sun ,22/11/2009

I sit in my gar­den why I don’t know
For it is steeped in blan­kets of new fallen snow.
Naked trees clothed in sheets of ice
The land­scape is beauty filled with sun­light and white.

Win­ter doth grips my heart so
The tears and the sad­ness from my soul flow.
But the beauty and promise.
That soon… my sweet but­ter­fly will show…

I am not given to speak­ing words that are sweet
I am blacker than mad­ness from the demons I meet.
The bat­tles that rage alone that I fight,
There is no moon in the dark­ness of my night.
It is beauty and love that I do indeed seek…
Where is my but­ter­fly? So humble…so meek.

Win­ter unclenches its furi­ous grip
It is sweet spring from whose cup I now sip
Fer­vently I wish from the seeds that I sow,
Soon…yes soon my sweet but­ter­fly will show.

I patiently wait alone in my chair
My gar­den has grown at which now I do stare
The flow­ers they bloom, through love and my care
But where is my but­ter­fly? so pretty so fair.

Her gos­samer wings alight on my plants,
My heart races to a beat that enchants.
I am stricken by mad­ness, with a heart that so yearns
My beau­ti­ful But­ter­fly indeed has returned.

You can not touch beauty; it is but a wisp of smoke
Clutch as you may tis but a dream you invoke
It can only be seen and loved from afar
Alas…..if I could… share the words that we spoke.

I watch in sweet bliss as she does her dance
Hop­ping from flower, from flower to plant
I smile and nod as her beauty unfolds
Ahhh the story of love that she told.

The trees cry leaves which tum­ble to the ground
With a wist­ful, wish­ful, whis­per­ing sound.
Autumn has come it can­not be denied
The green of the grass cries as it dies

The sea­sons impose their will upon all.

My eyes which do tear
And a heart that does yearn
That my sweet, sweet, but­ter­fly will some­day return.

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Apple Scented Madness

Sun ,22/11/2009

I sud­denly became aware I was
Dis­tinct
Sep­a­rate
Alive
Cov­ered in blood
Won­der­ing
What it was
This
Thing
Called life
I heard the cries of aborted fetuses
Seek­ing repen­tance
Seek­ing abso­lu­tion
For imag­ined crimes.
Their sin
Incon­ve­nience
There wails drowned
Muted and masked
By heavy machin­ery
Oper­ated by manic thought police
Dressed as sailors
Car­ry­ing hypo­der­mics
Filled with mind fuck

I was to be the trained seal
In the cir­cus of garbage
They didn’t know
I was bro­ken, incom­plete
I escaped to
The night­mare of the real

It was not really reality

Nor was it Lies
It was a hal­cyon era of apple scented mad­ness
Laced with truss rods of greased despair

Blind­folded visions of genet­i­cally altered cir­cus midgets
Play­ing mime to blind audiences

Painted vir­gins with jism stained dol­lar bills
Rolled, shaken
And stirred
Inserted Into for sale orifices

The screams of sev­ered heads plead­ing for body complete

Mutated Pheas­ants armed with auto­mat­ics
Butt fuck­ing hunters who scream why?

The dead become annoyed
Seek­ing eter­nal rest
Screech­ing alarm clocks
Awaken them
As the sadis­tic Gods laugh

Pissed off Zom­bies cry­ing “Brains”
Can’t find any

Bankers molest­ing children

Lawyers blow­ing bankers

Politi­cians laugh a creak­ing rusty hinged sound

Sight­less lovers seek­ing ful­fill­ment
Feel­ing only whores and lies

Mir­rors offer no com­fort
That swirling mist of promised magic
Merely con­firmed who we are not

Truth that cheap FILTHY WHORE

Screams orgas­mic shouts and moans
Body quiv­er­ing
Pre­tend­ing
She is not a will­ing sac­ri­fice at the altar of con­ve­nience
The vic­tim of lie’s ser­pent tongued promises?

Engulfed in an ill-fitted black robe of the lonely heart

They are all out of solace

Tears always pave the path to surrender

Emo­tions seethe and boil

Crit­i­cal mass reached.

I no longer sleep in a bed.
Beds are for faggots

There can be no com­fort here

I roll on the floor
At home with roaches and the denizens of the night

Leath­ery wings Play ser­rated whip saw sounds

Only I can hear

The sounds of bare survival

They laugh at joy

Chit­ter­ing know­ing words

They speak
Whispering

“You do not belong
You never did”

Yet they call me back
“YOU WILL JOIN US!”

The sound of cocked pis­tols
And lawyer lies
Con­gealed like Hye­nas
Bark­ing on an asphalt park­ing lot

Baby’s heads greas­ing the treads of wheeled deceit

Yet their vam­pire smiles
No longer frighten me

“YOU WILL JOIN US!”
The Zom­bie choir sings
Feign­ing Mozart

They do not suf­fer alien­ation
The law of lies and mad­ness will pre­vail
No sanc­ti­fi­ca­tion
No abso­lu­tion
I ignore them all
Mere tune­less wind chimes
Play­ing dis­cor­dant exis­ten­tial sounds of phony despair

Death knocks at my door
He claims us all as his own
He drips drool like Pavlov’s dog

I smile
I have been seek­ing you Death
Your lies stink
How can you claim one
Who has never lived?

His steps fal­ter
His sickle
Becomes
A broom
And I charge him to sweep the pain from this World

The though police
Cap­tured me
Finally

Kafka was the judge and jury
I was con­victed
Of seek­ing mean­ing in the meaningless

“Don’t you know?” he laughed
“Life is just a hal­cyon era of apple scented madness”

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