Brothers by War

 

Spirals

to the mountains.

From purple waves

to a sudden warmth.

The sun stays mellow

as it shows.

Something as it comes

out of

the mistakes

turned gold.

Is a lesson to grasp

or a curse to control?

Knowledge is a prison

of its most dominant

escort.

A lone beast that wanders

into the night.

Prowls its way

into Reality's

marrow.

For it stances

as it glances.

And it dazzles

glorious

darkness

 

to fill the space.

For it is my duty

to persist,

my path

to patch

the scars of a

world

too hot

to handle

on its own

accord.

Now,

it re-escalates

all sound

into a compress

ball of matter

and time.

Now,

all humans erode

their layers

in order to

try to

control.

A roar that can be heard

coming down the slope.

Be ready for His claws.

Be ready to

Never Stop.

Redlight. Stop. Crush & Wonder.

Green paste

on leaves

leaving shadows

on the ground as they

pass by

flying

floating

lonely

but together

by a mighty

b r e e z e.

With nowhere to go

but all the forces

of the wind pushing

them

forward

God knows where.

And of all, they're

very so terribly scared.

Regardless of

compliance,

they regret

selfsame mistakes.

Over and over,

repeating the same

lines, two trains

of thought

never stopping

not even

for remorse.

Now,

inflated

the bubble trembles

and breaks their

outermost

of layers,

later transitioned

into spheres . . .

So they can fit

enough portals made

of emeralds

for Ancient Snakes

to thread.

Portions of the 

same gust

of summer air

pollutes

its presence

once again.

But the fabric

nevertheless

is solved as stolen.

And this turn

is nothing but a

portion

of a grain of sand in a

never-ending

Ocean.

 Golden strikes

of fire, made matter

by our hands.

Now contemplates

the sky, its ruler once they

break

the silence of starry

sheets of darkness

too cold

to toughen up

stitches

in the weird weird

Automobile

of

C  H  A  N  C  E

Found Red Again

 

Red threads,

dread,

of sweetness

in the air.

A breeze of particular

thickness

jumps me

to no end.

Suffocating,

as it glances

over the sound of

laughter

after finishing

painting frames

together

in the palpable

space.

Now, I wonder

where all mistakes

were to find

themselves

forgotten.

But maybe,

just for a second

the current steps

taken

towards

a beautiful, familiar

yet forsaken

chaos

of the most gorgeous of

tentative

destructions.

They're the

flowers

of the siren call

awoken

now I'm left,

but nothing

as my broken

boat in which

I sail

through the darkness

as it

soots

my clothes in a

never washable

renew,

a shrew.

Now

anew

my thoughts gather

as I frailty pick

my pieces after

a new blow

under the hood.

And the chest tightens

and the blood corrodes.

And the belly fractures

as the whole world turns.

Over to the power

I once withhold.

Now the ruleset changes

and reality's shaken 

as she steps

gracefully

yet carelessly

into

my Frame.