Retreat

 

 

 

 

Allorapathy

There's nothing left that's right inside,

this head of mine, tonight this time;

I breathe these breaths in spite of the lines

that encircle my fate.

The right or wrong hangs on the eye

that sees the trees from storm strewn skies,

it sees so much it's growing blind

and in search of a prize it breaks.

memory so briefly transends time

to stir the creatures that lie inside

our deepest lie filled wiseless minds

awaiting to awake.

The best of the worst were left behind

encaged inside our dreams that died

their screams shine on like stars or lights

that glare with brightening hate.

their arms claw and cling to spines

to bend us all below our prime

low enough to see their eyes

to show us our own face.

With ice in veins we strive against

these slights of life that bind our sense

till blindness turns our purest white,

into our blackest mistake.

Now comes the time when we decide

of dark or light to choose one side

and climb or fall or die;

in pursuit of the substance of faith.

Like angels angels we pick our crimes

those scabs that just refuse to dry

our pasts align for one last sign

and we see where our stars sank.

What flame could light inside that sea,

to delight the heart that always bleeds,

it bleeds so much it hardly seems,

we could ever outswim its wake.

Sifting through ashes left behind

we try and find what good survived

this time we'll save it before it dies

if only it's not too late.

And now so brief our mind revives

for one last reprieve, then one last try

our dice burn on in eyes of rime,

and their toss is this world's quake.

On through days we fight this plague

this blight that bites with failures flame,

and every mistake we could not save

becomes our banner in this war we wage.

 

 

 

 

---© Electric Remedy 2013--- Contact Us at Tyler@electricremedy.com