Ode to the Dead Artist

taking as hearth and home
falling step on sharp stone
searing through solipsism
the soul of a sun’s son
wandering wherever wasted land
corrupts eyes and ears of man
where demons spin sly dreams
that squeeze sparking skulls
till they swell and split fried seams

shouting so silently through withering whens
forgotten scars shining in strokes of a pen
spitting out sour shells, stepping over dead selves
laughing like the darkly dying fool
who stumbled upon some terrible joke
all men suspected but only mad men knew
that absurdity is the king of all hope
and discord the fountainhead of the new

the ferryman had carried you into halls of rust
lifetimes before out of my mother I was cut
but it’s seemed like we’ve met whenver I’ve crept
through shook nights when sleep is only phantom
stood to look at light of dawn crusting horizon
vomiting black blood and coffee to greet the morning
we both know how that bitter bile leaves your mind burning
but still better than the passive path of the broken and boring

Triond linkie
~Rz

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~ by ethmgallagher on April 20, 2009.

One Response to “Ode to the Dead Artist”

  1. […] Original post by raoulzappacosta […]

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