The stories of the wind I know,
the fallen fairies speak,
They want to paint a red tattoo right across my cheak,
But their wings are crusted with the mucus and the due,
And so just like a gentlemen politely I'll reffuse.
The stories of the clouds I know,
that flee before the dawn.
And as the marssian red lights flash,
the clouds are quickly gone.
but soft as down they'll gather back with further grey they've found,
And close across my empty skies like edges of a wound.
The stories of the rain I know,
the nyads softly sing.
their lullabies of shattered thoughts and what was dremt within.
Like heroes in a story their voices are unreal,
Yet I'll not ask for silence until my fate is sealed.
the stories of the earth I know,
A ball of rock and stone.
that at a distance from it's star is dancing all alone.
the million footsteps on it's skin can never leave a mark,
As like a valiant ship it sales onwards through the dark.
The stories of the fire I know,
that burns deep underground.
In caverns full of leaping gems where violent hammers sound.
I'll calve my demons from the flaims and cast them stern in bronze,
And out in daylight's kindly fall pretend that they are false.
The stories of the sun I know,
Who's blood is molten gold.
who's eyes are far too bright to see, Who's hands too hot to hold.
Who's thought is clear beyond all sight, who's reach is long as death,
and maybe it won't notice me if I just hold my breath.
The stories of the night are mine,
Of darkness that I'll own.
Here shadow is no longer king for I'll sit on it's thrown,
And craft a finery of jet and onyx black to wear,
to pretend that o'er this vast domain no one else is there.
Edited by dark empathy (08/02/12 03:59 AM)