Thursday, April 4, 2013


From inside
It grows like a thing of dread
Reaching tentacle-like
Waking Cthulu from his bed
Rising through my mirky soul
Stirring up sediments I had long laid to rest
Or so I thought
Clouding the clarity of the moment's peace
My inner darkness now released
And flooding freely veins of creativity
And flooding icy the fires of my certainty
And while the world is a play
And while the players are all blind
I walk the tightrope above my self
The tightrope on fire by what I do not hide
Because I have told myself I shall not
Turn right until I have walked seven steps
And I cannot turn left except through right
No matter how the children have wept
So once broken from this shadow mold
I thought to be free from these constraints
Not knowing I had merely swallowed my own chains
The rattle of each step, iron deep singing
I know the song of death rising inside
On wings of night like a thing of dread
Wings I shall call nights of bliss
On wings of night like a thing of love
Wings I shall call string-like strength
And make the morning break
Orange sun and yellow sky
And break apart
From inside

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