(no subject)
There's jackals hiding in poetics unbound
Magic in the anth-em of madness
Surreal Van Goghs in the making
Indefined freedom flowing in the backward words
While mirrors hid among night
Fracture the shadows
That reflect our seasons of suicides
And I'm so sick of this spinning vortexual reality
The doctors feed me medicine constructed of ashes
To neutralize the neurosis
While brain dead poets spew poetics to the skies
Denied any real substance but recycled dreams
Just another butchery of essence
That the rats pick away at
While anarchy flows in the streets
Of the most beautiful persuasion
Because we're all just shipwrecked aliens
Trying to assimilate it all
Where shadows dance just outside the light of our illusions
And old souls dwell in streetcorner prophets
While silence stalks us into the most paranoid regions of our minds
And along the mystic ventures we partake
Where monkeys and tigers and wolves and monsters wait
Stranger still is our ability to make a sixth sense out of nothing at all
But the words have all been bought and paid for in blood
And I will not vilify our actions
For there is no rhyme bound to reason here
because our imaginations are the darkest poets of all
weaving nightmares and dreams together into art
This is dedicated to all the wonderful men here at DP who are inspirations, co-conspirators, and friends. Your words and laughter and tears have touched me more than you will ever know.
carlosjackal, bakkhus unbound, Magic Hatter, anth,veingo,indefined, knightmirror, lordshadow,Imsosickxxx, DoctorAsh, Neurosis, blueskiesdenied, Recycled, Bella Butchery, LabRat, Alanarchy,Urban Shipwreck, shadowsinthelight, OLd SouL,TheProphetUntold, Silent Stalker, mysticventures, Dancing Monkey, Blinded Tiger, DarkWolf, Stranger, Six-Out, boughtwithblood, Vilification, RhymeBound, Dark Poet
Please forgive me if I left anyone out