Akashic Ave

These are the marks of withering seeds. 

Branches with acidic stems sewn in the grounded frost of lament. 

Restive worms 'neath the soil of writhe in mind.  

Akashic Ave, lilting ancient terrors. 

A dream in the fields biota.

A prayer from the hours of rise in moon-pale mist and mortuary rage. Cannibal thoughts spew into the thoughts of my scattered un-wants. 

Invisible scars impel the tapping of these rancid wells of horrid pain.

They scribe laughter into the cantos of my skin 

Voices, endless leafs as they crow from under black wings of my crypt;

Each one pleading like a rising leper, lashing through the noxious wounds of my spleen.

Mange colored rats at their young insatiable.

Feeding from the core of my crown.

Followed nigh by my finality. 

Flesh-draped 

The fingers round my tongue. 

Only silence sleeps now beneath my bed.

Hunger fangs to it as never dared hover o'er this thinning.

Savoring my one single loss of sight.

Yet, thus turns the serf I have deemed.

Casting hellish roots beyond the depths...my hook drowned beneath the waters filled with cold phantom doubt; plunging into cruel days of sere. 

Unswayed by ledges or dimmed, but by the shelter of earlier days.

But by the rhythmic voices fashioned taut. The draw of chum and the shard bits of memory; cluttering the distance from my mortal wealth.

Truest are the days steeped in ice and baying the hours loudly.

 

They drive our jaws from this stint of hell. 

Cloudy hands will quiver...billowing at the devil's cloudy atelier. I aim my nights to the lucidity of Psyche and watch from balustrade, grave shadows reflect and melt down the luminous sides of this internal cliff. 

The mourning kettle screams; steam mirrors the gravity locked inside my demitasse and eyes.  

I have found Orion within these hours.. A brief reprise from my view slowed to mended. The brilliance of every sudden spill once spoken and thus unwillingly willed, can be quite cruel. Each one burns in me with its sudden appearance, with depth and width skilled brilliant enough so that I might find my best of comportment.

My vision; beyond a simple glass, beyond the sorrow of upended moments.

I relate these worms with sylvan respect for I shall always will their observations. My absolution, the only cost I keep, lies nestled in groves of divinity. The lost found atop the heavens of exhaustion and strife. Yet, as I sleep in days to recant the senses, I find within my final reach that I will, as ever stand crippled. The images both puzzled as undone... the brush of silhouettes and the days of fault wait patiently by the strays of improvident daylight.

 

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

I am beneath Orion each night....
That is were you may find this Soul....

[Perdition]

There is a great strength in three's. Focus near Mintaka and you'll see a a universe of lanterns.

[Priscilla Sayers]

Inner depths plunged, dived into, sticky goo of what is haunting a brilliant and open mind. Levels are leapt upon as further you journey into your transcence through this intense search of what now lies beneath one who FEELS experience and life, aware and solemn of this universal change.
Much love dear Hawk
XX

[Perdition]

This one will probably change a thousand times over before I feel the real wealth in it...but I know its source and there be the bulk of the battle..Damn page!!..lol. I'll get there...no worries. Thanks for the infinite support Canvas~ Now go and catch me a pleasant wave out there in the big wide and deep "solemn" somewhere would ya... please? Hugs till your return.

[Priscilla Sayers]

I have returned with laden heart, weary mind, as the compassion my compassion is going to be my demise....... The Fog is thick my friend. My heart never knew it could still break.....it is now fragments of sand....