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[empathyundertow]

The King and the Stone Apple

Upon the throne with the dust of eternities forgotten Was once a man who became so much more regarded than merely ____

A crown of metals and fabrics lost to time and power Created by hands with the sole purpose of others to know Sockets where once were eyes so fierce, they could pierce the earth Both see, know, and swallow the soul of a cadaver A skull which now falsely exposes the dusted teeth of man Who’s was so powerful it made the knees of armies kneel and break The torn attire which design could only be endless In marvelous stitching which elegantly quilted the brightest and darkest Of the words such a king spoke Which once came from the throat of a heart so pure yet so righteous Gods were his mouthpiece Where one’s own heartbeat could beat long enough Could become more real than the world it was birthed in Not a man, but something that very words could come true And omen spring plague of all shades His palms held an apple and it was stone It had been and always ever will be Such a sight to the dead king of kings Forgotten to the throne --------------------- I kneeled in this dark, threaded corner of the world Not in praise and faith to a forgotten lord I never knew No I am an archaeologist of a time and world long different A place where the night sky was brighter than white and stars which be voids to no end nor beginning I expected far less of this place than of my own world Yet I’ve seen a language Heard of many memories I do not understand I kneel for I break and I weep To a fear I can not understand

[empathyundertow]

Piece of Story No One Will Know Of

“Did you know, Sorentina? Many a musician has made songs about the wonders in life and light. Even in song, we know that what comes from the sky and the lords above is what shows beauty from us. Such songs like Amor En Mane, Ver'choro in C, many a song about love and whatever else you'd experience in the joys of living. Those were amateur songs to me. No, no, I became greatly attached to Schonburg's Pierrot Lunaire; a song which shows the beauty of the self in the light that most people forget about and that is The Moon. Shrouded as it ever was like the sun some time ago, I can still think I can see the soft glow in the deep night. At night when you have entertained every last sudden urge and will for whatever you wish, when you say your prayers by bedside right before slumber, they say only those thoughts and feelings are true. Did you know that?It is as if by the day is someone who is the will of us, while at night when the will is not needed shows our true faith. Our most honest of ourselves that have these gnawing and intrusive feelings. We lay our heads down and let the soft winds drift us to slumber, but the sleep which comes pierces the flesh inside the soul as we ignore it. Infact, I believe even Schonburg mentions about that where flesh eats the soul. The ironic tragedy that we don't even know what that means, right?In Pierro Lunaire, I know the me and the invisible shadow that the moon casts down. How we both move in unison. Both in the dark. Both, however, silhouetted. As a whole, I have always known I am many and none. What you fell in love with truly, my dear? It is slipping away and torn from the quilts of this body. I once loved songs of the day, but I can no longer hold at bay that terrible thing in the back of my soul. For what will be the end of the I that is I is the same answer to what makes Light to us so beautiful I found. That answer that I found which changed me forever.That, my dear, is that all light is beautiful and it shows beauty as truth. However, light is only beautiful because of the ambience. That it is cascaded in darkness.“

[empathyundertow]

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Never had the urge to build a tower I was too fascinated by the ground All of it, all of it, all of it, made me cower So I dug underground In my shadows making stories, faked enlightenment For what I thought worth to be profound I looked at silhouettes with light in it and there was no candle around The cowardly loves history So I became fascinated with the clouds I think what puts fear in me Is my influence of what surrounds

[empathyundertow]

The Aspect in All Eyes

I always wondered what image a god would take to me I didn’t grow up until I learned I could never really know yet I heard before all my thoughts the pieces lay in all and others I will admit to shamefully dragging my feet for years Ascend to my elderly Every recollection, the thumb fast paces a flip book To every moment I recall I can’t recall the expression I make and I surely over-color the scenery What was always left undrawn Was the grand desire of the model to my life in others For great monoliths of life’s experiences To the testaments of another person to statue behavior to me Have them monumented as obelisks of wisdom in my mind As I reach to my elderly I shamefully admit I held scorn for not finding aspects of gods in any of their eyes and I hatefully admit I lacked the light in my own worth perceiving and giving Hateful to admit that it stings On harshly that is said and written Without praise to what is said in stone and what isn’t in stone Regardless of how right it is or isn’t

[empathyundertow]

* undertow *

I drown in your words

the language that awakens every part of me

flooding my senses

leaving me submerged

in your soul’s reveries

the felt undertow of your heart pulling me

beneath the surface

into depths aqua and emerald

within the drift of your longing

unbridled fountains

cascades of manifested hungers

wellsprings from remotest depths

fully aligned,

stirring a consistent ache for their taste

breaths in between your words

form a winding vortex tight around my core

calling the depths of my desire

with your whispered thirst

I surge into the voracious yearning

inhaling each droplet of you

saturating all that I am

leaving me breathless

my pulse sounding your name

open my veins

I flow with you

a fiery explosion of unfathomable waters

so fully entwined

a miraculous fusion that knows neither end nor beginning

forever and again

© ScriptedSilence. All rights reserved

[empathyundertow]

This Little Town of Nowhere

It still all seems lost on me Ability to perceive anything here in the centuries seemingly Incoherently categorized Making order and law to the chaos that of which surrounds me I could not tell you the several dozen lifetimes walking in this Internally eternal firefly lamp post light of the nights Always awake, never fatigued Yet never feeling anything other than curiosity As the stories of all the unknowns and heroes and misfortunate Are there, seemingly, solely for me to uncover and recognize As either post-apocalyptic allegories that are strange in moral lesson or fables which derive their meanings from forgotten Pagan rationale I am truly of the belief I will never understand all the whys and hows Only that it seems predestined for me to have to at the very least Witness it Breathe it in Know, name, and subjugate every single tale to no one of this void With each one is a little bit more of my senses lost Memory gone and mind shattered Slowly but surely I await the only true death that I know Of not being aware anymore One day, I am no witness

[empathyundertow]

It Stormed the Night Before

Around 9:30PM to be called in with utmost haste When the coffee grounds still didn’t escape the roof of my mouth We were on the scene in room caked in cologne musk Tobacco dust and the aroma of a particular night some forlorn whiskey drinking It was around the time I arrived a story was constructed on my arrival Four friends at the card game, things slowly soured out and somehow each one faded at the table without struggle Almost like they willingly gave in to the drowsiness Passed out to never wake Wasn’t much else to gaze from this place besides no names Playing fool games on rotten floorboards of a cheap room Rain pelted the glass and that was the only sound to accompany The soft, confused murmurs of my colleagues An educated guess for what went down I finished my smoke, finally leaving my full spirit with the rest here Flipping hands of cards Each winning, each lucky in respect to the Texas showdown Of one of the cheap cigars, my finger goes along to the burnt ash end Wet near the rim Fentanyl Guess this is a start to the understanding The fact they lay here undisturbed with almost a smile in their peace Leaves me with a sense of unease Something so unsettling in this vague guess of how it all ended The rest of the men continued their theories, but I suppose This was answer enough As soon as I felt the natural frown form on me I could feel the wind carry me along Soon, fading off into the depths of a rainy night At a speed far too quick for me to really comprehend where I was heading Through the atmosphere and every moment of my life before

[empathyundertow]

Of Fortune

In come the light Eyes open Out of the bed to day break The weather is nice

Cool

Of this week name change to Suns of August Though a Southern Summer is always rain Personally I prefer distance onlook to that backdrop A warm ray is still welcoming before and after still With so many people around on my way outside Hard not to be painted with alacrity I’m colorfully paranoid in that warmth I feel alive

Cool, Yeah Yeah Yeah, Cool

Not as if this is something out of the ordinary There is still definitely many days of light and sun in this world I should say, there are many good days even without sun Weather does not dominate that which the great sound and wonder may be The air carried by the breeze, vented by the sky is nice in different shades I think a picked picture perfect is preference but still good I should be thankful to that

Cool, Cool, Yeah

Not like there is anything special to be alive to Random Number Generation placed me nice and simple Strategic position combined with my own intuition puts in A fraction of a whole number’s percentage chance of possibly “Not having a good time” to say it nicely Though to not experience it really gives the satisfaction To the opposite of that which is a fear implanted in the genetic compounds of my genetics and brain Coordinated by the multitudes of papers and dust and forgotten visuals my ancestors left me in mere hairs of grand emotions which randomly spiked in single events throughout their lives All accumulating to the sudden moment which is now Me calmly walking on a nice, distance watching of families and those I don’t know Jovial in their plans for the evening I can’t help but put all the unnecessarily complex thoughts to the side and just think that it’s a nice day

“Cool.”

[empathyundertow]

intimacy, degloved the scattering moonwhite     knuckles                       churning bone               down hollows                             god                 abandoned I made rivers out from the urge to               hunger and there they died

[empathyundertow]

From fatima abby tall's chapbook, Goldfish Musings, available from Bottlecap Press!

[empathyundertow]

After the stone

is shaped

We venerate

the chisels

[empathyundertow]

Not a Letter

I don’t normally post or really do anything here besides write whatever comes to mind. I am never quite sure if people ever take a meaning from them; I hope they are and it is a positive one. More importantly over the years of having these pieces up as a hobby, I would just like to thank everyone for taking your time to read them and I genuinely hope that they did spark something nice and warm in your head. I greatly appreciate you all reading whatever gets posted even if you like or dislike them. Sincerely, Thank You

[empathyundertow]

Binch did you eat a thesaurus? Your pointless convolution of your own poetry only detracts from its intended purpose.

Simplify your adjectives.

If you don't like being lost, it probably isn't for you

[empathyundertow]

The Lenin Wastes

It takes 365 milliseconds in your one life To suddenly experience the esoteric human curse Where you stop moving the way you normally do To ponder As you just witnessed for the first time the self Indefinitely from then on is the unwarranted signature of agreement We textile amongst  the rest of the living by the same regard Considerate of the dress Unchanged by the innovation of the culture of how to wear Witness the up and coming new monarchy rained in cotton Beholder the new theocratic martyr whose roughness by silk Evenly displays next with a general and their fanciful leather These endless patchworks of progress One might think it unnecessary to think of every full turn Of the wooden wheel which presses down the needle Only which to weave it back up and continue It is difficult to even consider way more to the second skin The purpose it presents Maybe all that we stitch doesn’t even need to be thought of back to the start In all of all that we sow Maybe that inside myself is too open to too many a ceremony I just become lost in the idea of the living symbol and every named icon that ever moved or laid still around me Perhaps it is time to go over it one last time Over what might have been missed

[empathyundertow]

Drawn From the Intoxicated Metaphysical

From the room of a strange land’s studio apartment Remnants of spiderwebs ooze drip in fractured patterns from the ceiling Like the point-press of a paint brush Guess at heart I’m an artist Even when the heart partly plays metaphorical in feeling Like a seed in a cement brick in a water balloon at the bottom of the basket of a hot air balloon rising in the atmosphere of straight gas foreign iodine That was my eye, the line of sight where my other eye was on Keeping close watch on myself and my functional parts Clapped my face’s skin till the metal perspires and I weld from that chalk A Pyrite to patch my own walking persona

Tip a nodded notion at the stranger last mention with sunglasses Shades tipped very Christ-like Holes opaque of the weathered experience in the limelight That’s what breathing in the reflections at night was like Through the destitute of a travel paragliding off the inertia from only the most highest anointed of metals I was blacksmithed in blacksmith in blacksmith in blacksmith Forged to remember referring to the kettle as Kettle Poured out the soul to no one but the solid sounds instrumental and every turning point doing the mad dash past sun and moon Such and such Another reckoned thought gets wrecked until order’s bestowed Least enough to be categorized as acceptable Especially when the borders of law and chaos or whatever might you subject to label as what Occurs to be inevitable Once voyaged to something known only as the soul destinated Empirically throned by one as the end of what you started Is the abstract of what the you considers what art is Whether come to conclusion or dearly departed That is where I wish to say my heart is

[empathyundertow]

The Roar Among the Quiet

As said but it came from none Only the eternal struggle of sword and shield amongst the plains Decades, centuries, even in the war you’ve seen and partake War where cause and effect exists beyond where you’ve been born Never left That battlefield of steel and bone shrapnel Tore even deeper than skin but the soul milked over the eyes The heart which somedays breathes and sometimes seizures I have made thousands of paintings I can’t remember In a battle of oceans of words New to repetitive metaphors in the anatomy of beauty and pain Blessed, as well, by new waters which flow from pens of strangers In this endless abyss of faceless allies and opposition There is a strong desire For good Great for all that is and ever was That which consists in a word I either never knew or always forget I share to you my welcoming homefront Awaiting when the silent fight breaks from the sky’s crackle Which, in the abyssal darkness, thickets the void With a single flash, a sprinkle of light And a groan that crawls all that endlessly The horn that brings back sound only for everyone and I to Stand still and watch patiently in the moment I am not sure what any of that means Though, I present to you the I against I All that is me Oh Fortuna, I bleed a blood I can’t see

[empathyundertow]

Yukinari

Small town text Is all you get Hello reader Regardless if we have met each other or are strangers to the barrier of the screen One thing is for certain binds us I’ve cursed a nostalgia on you As the words you read bring about some kind of emotion You could say you can describe it I could say the same I’m not sure I wont tell you you’re wrong My eyes have fooled me before I apologize Because as an old man recounts history As you listen There is a gentle ping in the heart That doesn’t always feel good I’m not sure how you feel but every day I’ve been becoming something else Completely different from the first and last Defying the spectrum Ouroboros transformation As the never-ending self-depreciating hunger Meets the desire to romanticize the self I once made you shed a tear I apologize This was a terrible Winter for the eyes