Outsider writings.
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Last of a kind.
Last of a kind.
Aspect of a jaded soul
Becalms tempestuous waves
A warm night turns misty
With whisperings of memories.
Retreating voices reveal a stage
Unveiling a twinkling audience
A moonlit spotlight awaits
His journeys end of existence.
He has come to claim last rites
From what was named in vain
Heavenly bodies of silent judgement
Man failed to comprehend or tame.
Disappeared to the vanishing point
A broken horse ridden hard
Kicking up the bones of the dead
Buried by questions unanswered.
This rider of faith stands alone
Vestiges of a ravaged life adorned
Consumed by all he condemned
Once practiced by those he mourned.
Squared to the light he demands
Stabbing a bony finger into the night
A possessed man barking at the moon
The fool of mankind, such a sorry sight.
A mind succumbs to silence
Finally his voices relent
With just stars and the moon
There is nothing left to repent.
Slowly day awakens
Waves remove a stage
Without eyes to appreciate
There's nobody to feel the new age.
Aspect of a jaded soul
Becalms tempestuous waves
A warm night turns misty
With whisperings of memories.
Retreating voices reveal a stage
Unveiling a twinkling audience
A moonlit spotlight awaits
His journeys end of existence.
He has come to claim last rites
From what was named in vain
Heavenly bodies of silent judgement
Man failed to comprehend or tame.
Disappeared to the vanishing point
A broken horse ridden hard
Kicking up the bones of the dead
Buried by questions unanswered.
This rider of faith stands alone
Vestiges of a ravaged life adorned
Consumed by all he condemned
Once practiced by those he mourned.
Squared to the light he demands
Stabbing a bony finger into the night
A possessed man barking at the moon
The fool of mankind, such a sorry sight.
A mind succumbs to silence
Finally his voices relent
With just stars and the moon
There is nothing left to repent.
Slowly day awakens
Waves remove a stage
Without eyes to appreciate
There's nobody to feel the new age.
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Last of a kind.
Last of a kind.