Malphaestus
Touched by the Apocalypse
"It seems like it was... Yesterday," a faint breath, troubled by a lingering lost;
Elucidate: throbbing thoughts strong enough to cross the pause blossomed from within the temple,
Stretched across the mouth and blurted out like a promise crossed; embossed within the mind of a man out in the frost.
Snow crossed the sight, blankness painted in ways surreal; fitting place and time to mourn the life from whom the world had steal'd.
The moon so low, ashamed of what the world had to undergo; the wind in biting chill furious, uproarious.
Trees in their winter's sleep, blind to the truth which construes the way any sane mind could gaze upon any land, of any sort, trying so hard to find something sublime;
None can be found, for like the changing tide what had been brought in, was swayed out and yet another life rejoins the many others of its kind in the ground.
The image picturesque, the reality lasting yet:
The blood of her flesh silhouetted across the drab grey of uncaring steel and the lightning flickers of unending-
Never fret, we'll meet again, no sweat- "I just, have things I still gotta do."
A cigarette tossed aside like the emotions choked within the mind, strangling tears before they set root and produce their maligned fruit;
A mountain of life placed upon the shoulders of the ones who last, tossed aside so that the ones who survived the past can carry on in a world trashed.
Words spoken, thanks taken, dreams woven, ideals shaken; memories aching.
Tears shed, reality too grand a monument for but one man to stand stable on his own two feet upon the ground.
Grip trembling as the past resurfaced before him in a flash, replaying the gruesome aftermath of a soulmate's flame turned to ash.
He gasped, eyes widened as his mind looked over the corpse of a woman torn: anguished scream painted upon ripped lips bit apart,
Her face once golden rendered open and the truth of life, the fragility of her brightest warmth, was rendered in such gruesome form:
"Angelina!"
A roar that shakes, a mouth that gaped. To stretch the lips like hers, he stretched her name to the earth;
Had she been there, she'd confronted his fear, told him to rise above, to go beyond. There was none to respond.
He wished to be shot, to feel pain which did not gnaw.
That pain would never bear and the dread merely loomed like an atmosphere of grief,
Breathing in the deep-sea, filled with the oxygen of pain; the snow had become like the rain.
Elucidate: throbbing thoughts strong enough to cross the pause blossomed from within the temple,
Stretched across the mouth and blurted out like a promise crossed; embossed within the mind of a man out in the frost.
Snow crossed the sight, blankness painted in ways surreal; fitting place and time to mourn the life from whom the world had steal'd.
The moon so low, ashamed of what the world had to undergo; the wind in biting chill furious, uproarious.
Trees in their winter's sleep, blind to the truth which construes the way any sane mind could gaze upon any land, of any sort, trying so hard to find something sublime;
None can be found, for like the changing tide what had been brought in, was swayed out and yet another life rejoins the many others of its kind in the ground.
The image picturesque, the reality lasting yet:
The blood of her flesh silhouetted across the drab grey of uncaring steel and the lightning flickers of unending-
Never fret, we'll meet again, no sweat- "I just, have things I still gotta do."
A cigarette tossed aside like the emotions choked within the mind, strangling tears before they set root and produce their maligned fruit;
A mountain of life placed upon the shoulders of the ones who last, tossed aside so that the ones who survived the past can carry on in a world trashed.
Words spoken, thanks taken, dreams woven, ideals shaken; memories aching.
Tears shed, reality too grand a monument for but one man to stand stable on his own two feet upon the ground.
Grip trembling as the past resurfaced before him in a flash, replaying the gruesome aftermath of a soulmate's flame turned to ash.
He gasped, eyes widened as his mind looked over the corpse of a woman torn: anguished scream painted upon ripped lips bit apart,
Her face once golden rendered open and the truth of life, the fragility of her brightest warmth, was rendered in such gruesome form:
"Angelina!"
A roar that shakes, a mouth that gaped. To stretch the lips like hers, he stretched her name to the earth;
Had she been there, she'd confronted his fear, told him to rise above, to go beyond. There was none to respond.
He wished to be shot, to feel pain which did not gnaw.
That pain would never bear and the dread merely loomed like an atmosphere of grief,
Breathing in the deep-sea, filled with the oxygen of pain; the snow had become like the rain.
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