Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
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The sky seems to just fall away.
There is no anything except
White small beams of light
Destroying the blanket of dark
That warms many foreboding spirits.
Where a heaven should exist,
There's only dust.
The misty forest is an illusion,
A faint bit of hope floats
And glows dead.
The living love smolders and
Even hell disappears.
Instruments with dusty reeds and keys
Dance beauty like a stripper
Earning tips; a child of chance
Becomes a lost search.
I hate six days from now,
When I die a second death.
12-9-09
There is no anything except
White small beams of light
Destroying the blanket of dark
That warms many foreboding spirits.
Where a heaven should exist,
There's only dust.
The misty forest is an illusion,
A faint bit of hope floats
And glows dead.
The living love smolders and
Even hell disappears.
Instruments with dusty reeds and keys
Dance beauty like a stripper
Earning tips; a child of chance
Becomes a lost search.
I hate six days from now,
When I die a second death.
12-9-09
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