Metaphor

Astrauskus (Sour Blank)

V1:
Heaven parts against the flats;
daybreak grants its coming back -------

Astrauskus lit and placed the sun
against the moon as night was done -------

Then came floods of gilded blues,
cool of night with noontime hues -------

Beneath eclipse the earthen stirred
and by Astrauskus' final word -------

The passage 'tween the phases day
was swept aloft and wiped away --------------

Chorus:
Sour blank -------
Astrauskus dreamt of endlessly -------
Sour blank -------
Surrendering and sundering -------
Sour blank -------
Astrauskus isn't - isn't - isn't - is -------
Sour blank -------
Sour blank --------------

V2:
Cycles still themselves and grey
'neath expanses washed and splayed --------
(Sour blank ------- )
The settled time to rest was none,
and still Astrauskus carried on -------
(Sour blank ------- )
'Til soundless, slighted ground remained
upon that which Astrauskus laid -------
(Sour blank ------- )
And as he rolled on to his side,
waters creased, as did the tide,

the space above did rend, divide:
and Astrauskus slept, unburdened by --------------

Chorus:
Sour blank -------
Astrauskus dreaming endlessly -------
Sour blank -------
Thunder isn't thundering -------
Sour blank -------
Astrauskus is and is and is -------
Sour blank -------
Sour blank --------------
Sour blank ---------------------

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Halloviven

I'd heard the term Lugubrious, as if directed by a slur;
mangled by the ugliness of its wherewithal - the consequences it implied.
It entrenched me in myself even further than before,
except this time I sought solution, or at the very least, a barrier:
something that would force me to stop.
Embraced by the fog, lead through spacious halls
with dim lights, heavy dust and vacuous appeal;
I was thwarted in my perils by a hole
that everything seemed to run to, and conclude with.
It gaped soundlessly, aside from the faint swish of rushing air:
robbed from the living by a manic and somehow empty glutton.
It was infuriatingly pointless, greedy,
and at odds with everything, everywhere, and would be forever.
It met me with its vacancy, accustomed and ensured,
until I sat and stared into its wide center.
There were no eyes to meet, but something transfixed me,
set a shake to spine, and became present.
I stood, turned, and walked.

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The Gallery of the Soul

Statues that fear nearby mirrors,
wary of these obelisks in granite smears.
They say to themselves:
"Such creatures must surely be of old fiction!"

Canvasses left, still dripping,
beneath broad lamps of artificial light.
They never quite dry;
but they do become hardened, like molded bread.

Dauntless fools in paint and nude;
they dot each hall and carry on at no one.
When, and if approached,
they scurry all directions and shout out their idolatry.

There are great and hanging ornaments
with wide and gaping holes from thrown rocks.
Drowned in all their splendor,
they now hang and bleed black in mighty, roaring waves.

Among the halls the voices bicker,
with each concept so self-obsessed and sure:
a thousand senseless thoughts and words
that combine to form nothing, beyond unsettled bowels.

And then there are booths and displays
that one may then hide in with someone quite attractive.
You can't recall the piece's stage,
but you can remember the color of its floor.

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Dweller on Charlottle Island

Dweller had left the daily hum and drum behind,
and set himself adrift on monumental tides.
His journey was a deadly one
that flung him on to shores.
He tasted sand and bits of shell,
and knew he had found a home.
Charlottle Island he did name this vast and new expanse.
He walked along its furthest rims and knew he was the last
of any form of mindful being
that had dwelt along these coasts,
making him Charlottle's king
and leaving him to rule alone.
Upon a day of harnessing the island's baltic wastes,
he found a dryness on his tongue and thirst he could not slake.
He set his weathered boot to ground
and stalked beneath the trees,
with eyes afixed towards the skies
and hands against the breeze.
He sang a sweet and mild tune that he'd forgotten 'til just now,
lost in all the beauty of Charlottle cast abound.
Just then Dweller saw a fix:
a single ripened coconut,
hanging rapt on highest branch
and begging for indulgent lust.
Dweller wrapped his legs about the trunk of holding tree,
only to exhaust himself whilst climbing up to reach.
He tumbled backwards, hit the earth,
and scratched at shaggy skull.
He pondered there and thought aloud
until his head grew full.
Later came and Dweller thought to bring all that he owned
and stack them all atop the other until he'd bit his goal.
But every thing brought from the isle
was not enough to rival she,
the Charlottle grace and tallest palm
that held at bay his needs.
Dweller sat beneath the shade of his prize above all prizes,
sick by dust that sank between his teeth and both his eyelids.
He looked around and took it in,
the pretty place he'd stumbled on.
He thought a while and came to grips
with the bounty he had called upon.
He leaned against the blasted trunk and bonked his head on wood;
smiling despite himself, resting while he could.
Maybe he'd just do without
the lovely, milkened sphere.
He had so much that blessed him here,
and so little that interfered.
Dweller stood and shook the tree, sighing with a grin.
He took his leave and reveled in the burning that was his.
Horizons leapt and then sank down,
with dimming light to guide him home.
Dweller then made bed for night
and laid awake before he dozed.
A fullest moon did pour upon Charlottle's fragrant slopes,
bringing with it churning air and a pale-blue sort of glow.
And evening late as Dweller dreamt,
the winds did bring their fury,
and his coconut then fell from perch,
where beneath the sand it buried.

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Clayby (or Rottery)

When I was a stack of clay,
I'd felt the hands that stirred me up
and shaped me into playful forms
without a kiln to temper me.
Though never set from clay to stone,
there was joy in handling
and being sought out by her grip:
her fingers poised to tousle me.
On many days she'd grant me strength
with reinforcing arms of faith -
to settle me upon my feet
which she'd craft so I could stand.
On other days that left her wounded,
she'd reach for me with knowing breath;
to press me down into the soft,
and loving pillow beneath her head.
But soon my folds would stick to her,
trailing muck beneath her nails.
Her fingers would pry loose of me
and hope to leave me fine alone.
But sadly left beneath the sun
that poured inside through window glass,
I set to starch inflexibles
without a pretty sculpt to have.
And now I seek the shaded veil
that might soften me so well again,
until a better, stronger, loving hand
may turn me to a statue.

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Bred of the Water

Liken me to a wayward vessel;
traversing tide, drenched in rain,
entranced by moths atop the lanterns,
destroying coasts in drunken fits.

"Shall we banter, foolish maids?
Say you'll stay your tongue for me!
I've journeyed long and I dare say,
I see no means to bar my siege!"

We'd decorate and set about
our entrance gained by falling cannon,
and dip our hands beneath the veil
that hid such sweet and clear blue eyes.

Our passage through gives rise to flames
that line the paths from beach to foyer.
Sat against the inner linens,
our minds would tend to stew and tarry.

And tales would bubble from our lips
of better times on better days -
amidst the crowd of gull and wave,
that fought against us; fought to save us.

"Skies and seas begin their blur
and soon you're sure the course you've set
is not your Earth nor something near,
but on Heaven's own grand-wide ascent!

And if you've stones and guts to grant
your life be kept beneath your breast,
you'll find true love upon the mist,
and the sun above that's sinking west."

Our hearts did long and weep for sails
to rise to meet the tropic winds;
for freedom that is rung from those
who dare not fault the governed land.

So we filled our gullets full,
and made our pockets sag and bound,
and chose to stay beneath the flag
made of black and cross bones.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Not sure where this came from.

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Abandoned Land

Beneath a restless, shifting wasteland
lies a figure whose feet forms twin peaks.
Steady breaths decide the direction of the wind
and all the clouds of dust and loose fur.
He admires his blanketed sand,
and wonders of the presence of hilltops,
trees and brush, valleys and sloping mounds;
all such things that add beauty to landscape.
Before there had been such smooth ground to tread,
with a bronze, descending curvature,
and just after the quake had taken it away,
there had been a pale garden that grew wild
and wilted in a matter of weeks.
Its flowers held such value for the figure,
and he marveled at their sight and scent.
But as they fell decrepit and rotten,
he released his grip from their stems,
and wished better for their seedlings elsewhere.
He attempts to find sleep in the heat of his desert
and seeks a good shelter from the night's savage chill,
but he knows at his leisure that none may soon come
to plant an oak for shading him,
or to settle close to bathe him in warmth.

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Auto Bonnet

On a crackling sheet of asphalt, beneath an angry star,
I'm forced to debate between machines of varied transport.
One day they may earn the names of women, many bound by love,
but for now, anonymous as they came to be: a complex of mechanics
There is a first glance, which reveals next to nothing,
besides the shine of the chrome and the vanity of the former.
A sample taken of them says much of their interior.
Forays into their depths may state a word of their performance.
A way to test the road upon all fours may be a proposition
that keeps on the lot for many hours past intention.
But per my lack of knowledge, I hunger by my eye
for all the grind of gears and tread upon the tire.
There is a choice to make, between the inside and the out
of which to judge and lay decision, of which I may regret.
The curve of the chassis, the color of the paint,
or the rigors of the handling and the call of the maintenance light.
And since I know so little, and since the dealer tends to lie,
I think I'll just continue walking, for just a little while.

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Stormy Sunshine

 

Well it can't always be sunshine and there's always bound to be stormy weather

but ride it out and you'll feel better.

 

 

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