CLUSTERED SOULS OF SERENE WINDS 1. CANONIZED SONGS Chronic fatigue fossilizes clustered souls of serene winds. Poverty stricken are sadistic minds Whose spirits are undernourished. For what light is to consume majestic beings When trembling are their weeping breaths Which no longer sustain the catís tongue? Deserted are they who follow wicked trains Down desolate tracks. Shouting are their burning lungs Whose gaze is lead astray; Yet, cleansing is the life giving spirit Who seizes these thirsty trollops And quenches the thirst of dying rose petals. For what are their ways but to consume pigeons gone astray? Only the fortnight can solve this mystery. Forever burns inside feeble minds of holistic songs, But braided are their drizzling melodies Thatmaneuver manís sacred pulse. I can no longer walk in this angry mist. For my soul longs to be reinstated in liquid realms Of your floral kingdoms; Yet, my voice is a dance electrifying wonder Inside ivy visions beholding man. Reach into shivering clouds And let their milky waters shield whispering songs That threaten to desecrate the evil Which strikes down sensuous doors of humility. 2. FEEBLE CLOUDS OF MY PAPER MIND Lonely are his tears that streak his encumbered face, Hollow are his wicked vibrations That strew through this tearful maze; Yet, shouting are the winds Whose breath wreaks with deceitful tongues. Wholesome and pure is a scarcity among men, Longing is the warm embrace that blankets bleeding souls; But rising is the humble sun who melts into serene waters. Warmly I thank you for your dissimilated rubies; However, I cannot forget the decapitated beings Who rest within feeble clouds of my paper mind. Talk to me, Lord of the golden nimrod, So fields and mice shall burn through your withered moon. Sanctify creeds of forgotten religions; Yet, offer your heart to the true God of all that is reimbursed Through the shared voice of angelic light. 3. VALVES OF DECEIT Shouting are your icy flames that burn my spiritual body. Doors of steel rest inside your vile voice, But I no longer see into something that just was not there. Child of Hades drink up your own bitter wines And then fire shall consume your soul. For it is a longing to be set free from these imperiled chains Of regret and remission of sinful deeds. I long to share the light with halo visions of my weeping rain That burns my fleshy mind inside the heart of humanly bliss. For impoverished child look to your own wicked ways To find the truth of your own scorn. Blessed are they who wash down their pain With their own bitter wines. For they shall suppress bleeding scars With medicated minds of their past And shall winterize their valves of deceit With honored vows to He who is the King. 4. BLUE VELVET The early rain surrenders her icy soul to frigid tombs Where she is dressed in blue velvet. He offers her his latest test of will and endurance Through a generation of deceitful buckets, Because he wants to vanquish her hungry watts Who ignite passionate waves of soot Inside her diseased troughs. Somber melodies pour into my destitute cup And parch my throat raw with every sip I take. For drowning in her warm embrace is the fortitude He sought out during his dying days of agony and defeat. 5. GLAZE War is a bed of nails that speaks to the pulse of life. For it is the fortitude that strikes blows to the bodies of man So he may become hardened by his own anguish. Seep into fleshy mountains, Great Lord of the beasts; Yet, allow milky streams to glide through The laughter of the morning dew. For these crimson beams of light are not destined To glaze over naked souls, But they are the seeds that unfold on the heads Of these soldiersí descendants. 6. MILKING STEAMS FROM HALLOW GRAVES I came to the little red And the red was a little worn, tattered and cold Rising into the crimson air. For we breathe through frolic tendencies, And milk streams from hallow graves Resting like finicky creeds of man. Follow me, lordly winds, Through funnels dripping wretched wet. Hover me sandstorms for a warm embrace Too and fro when the steeds do call on me And brush away cottontail from humble deeds Belonging to the melodic winter. 7. NECTAR I ate a crust of bread And the bread was good. I drank sweet rose petals And their nectar I loved. Their tears are mellow; Yet, stricken with grief For a fallen soldier, languid with shares Of his tongue twisted snares. Drought sets in And my soul is like a sponge That absorbs all the mess of misfortunate seeds. Whisper in my golden ears, You sow of a storm, And drain my horizons of silt and despair. 8. TIME WARP OF PROMISES How can I compare your porcelain soul To the ways of the satin snow? For they are drums who beat down fear Into chivalrous hearts of children. Bare feet be blessed. Heavenly hosts, hear my praises in song. Let glazed worms surround flamboyant tendons With your Achilles heal And create a lather of hope To diminish the world of zeal. A .35 caliber burns with anger, But tabernacle clings to my pasty flesh. Tantalizing wishes caress washed up tears. Only the sun can cleanse your frozen soul Of soot left over from your bleeding storm. Softly the ocean speaks to me: ďLord, willfully I speak In praise of rambunctious crests. For these are the ways of which I hollow out my bones So I may bring forth new life Into liquid dreams.Ē Should the waiting beat on in deceitful halls, To foster neglected light, Only to sift my tired spirit Into shavings of frolic dust? Seeds of tomorrow call out to ancient tombs To channel their guardians who keep watch over the sun. Hover me, you beastly winds, So I may rise above wicked bombs Set to the rhythm of paranoia. My pulse moans like the demon of the night. Let me walk through your golden doors of jubilation And surround your evanescence. Take me into the melting sky And I will redeem the cost of molten lava In exchange for His humble reward. Donít live on borrowed time, But embrace bold trees with amber waves of grain. Sit down on my porch to sip a glass of cold lemonade And raise your harmonica into the air To glide your lips along the zesty fire Which breeds havoc inside feverish songs. 9. CRYING WATERS/FROTHY VISIONS & PEACEFUL MELODIES Crying waters drink up my fire For tattered souls who walk miles of rubble To cleanse earthly bounds of prehistoric beasts. My spirit is a dish from which I eat my holistic meal. My Creator is my sustenance from which I build towers to rise. My corpse is my closet for which I store my satin fruit. My mind is an olive whose oil caresses my frothy visions; Yet, my creed is my foundation from which I receive peaceful melodies. 10. SOMETIME IN THE AFTERNOON One drop of blood is smeared, And a page is turned. My spun dreams are ancient ruins Who drink everlasting light. For the loving earth is manís body That burns with the Lordís blazing fire. Words be not stolen. For His passionate eyes cut glass Inside my spiritual walls. Heavenly hosts toast to distant worlds To satisfy hidden desires of mortals, But I mark my stone with impressionistic wolves To sanctify stealthy waters. 11. SOMETIME IN THE MORNING Welcome to my prayers, my Lord. Teach me how to lift my voice in song. My heart is experiencing a meltdown. For the grace of arms Is not without
faltered deeds. For the seeds of truth must be replenished In order to be plentiful during the times of need. The fortitude of these red roses Must not dry up in their own juices. However, it is their thorns which cut the flesh And make the heart weep. Mustard gas burns manís lungs And sets his soul afire. His spirit thirsts for justified cremation, But his song echoes through the innocent ears Of his glass children. For the eyes are weary with exhaustion, Because a new face has been laid upon this rocky foundation. The left ventricle sips champagne, Because blue oceans saturate carpeted flesh. But I take breaths of solitude. For I no longer believe in remorse of a false creed. My wounds run deep like a pulsating river. My fire burns through egotistic channels That hover over satin minds. For my eyes are gaseous tombs That carry diseased spirits to holistic homes That reside inside stain glass windows. Yet, my visions are meek And my soul everlasting, Because your cruel thorns shall not defeat me In the light that I have become. 12. EXHALE Mystic waters, talk to my crying bones. My mind is clouded with images of bobble head dolls Rushing towards me in a fierce storm With hail sparking my soul along jaded paths, Because every stone rubs against the blind cement. My spirit roams imprisoned with shackles In the darkest, hungriest pits of Hades. Feverish tombs, exhale wicked breaths And singe the thirsty hairs on my blistered arms With your unhallowed embrace. Saintly flutes, sing sad songs for your remorseful soldier Who drowned inside painted illusions With tainted colors of red, black, blue and brown. Her face is a ghostly white And her glistening eyes gather lilacs To perfume these diseased vessels. 13. MY EYES ARE TEACHERS I watch you bathing in the sunlight breeze, My foaled in the nightly voices Who launches feats in your cause for violent tendencies. For your song is received through your loving eyes. I listen to your sugar melodies And saturate my golden soul With amulets of your childish tears. Please step off the plastic hair And follow me through the Lordís oil lamp. Letís take those watercolor memories And melt the pulse of His serene majesty. For when horns are intertwined, The beastly foes drift off in their humble dance: Their serenade of manhood. Shall I wait for you in cemented breeze, Or should I follow wooden stars down gel surfaces? For I bleed my song into your ocean that is your metallic soul. My voice is a canvas from which I design hallow songs, And my eyes are teachers, Because from them I learn all I need to know About the ways of worldly deeds. For it is the song that speaks to thirsty rivers, And it is the somber night that makes crystal lungs shatter. For my heart is a rock from longtime battle of my own domain. Sector of the sun, hear my worldly battle cry. For I loathe this vile drum that pounds my fearful heart. Take me beyond horizons filled with deathly showers And raise me high above the moon. 14. LATE IN THE EVENING A red light flickers near the back of my fertile mind And Iím drowning within the shivering pools Of my own subconscious. Glazed are you words And limber is your walk. However, it is the crispness of your maneuvers That ignites passionate flames of rage. There in the distance the sun begins to set On the heads of your crusty victims whose bodies collide With the intensity of your wicked fire. 15. HALLOW TOMBS The blood that lays upon his feet Rains down upon holistic beings. Listlessly I roam your dessert In search of remnants from my shouting spirit. Communal skeletons compose feverish wallows Of my misty tears. His soul follows the Shepherdís voice That leads him down roads comprised of hallow tombs. Come visit my remorseful eyes. For my doors are open unto you And provide every man stoned tables To congregate down into mystic hills Of the Lordís humble parade designed to break Satanic gateways leading to Hades pits And dissolve sandstone only to be replaced By the wines which are His blood. 16. THE FEAST The hours of the feast have arrived On the coast of romped waters. Their gel surface transcends spiritual beings Into Heavenly hosts. I follow every so slowly your relished steps, Only to be covered up in the linguistics of it all. Surmise my light and bring forth soulful corn Belonging to this fearful dance. I mold within bold glaciers And I speak to thirsty clouds Whose oceans melt into heroic stars. I cannot dine on infamous plights. For I can only sing into frozen breaths That are your corpse. 17. WHEN THE RAIN CRIES The lambís head rolls against frothy edges of Mother Earth. I take in satin breaths And I am humbled by this mystic plight. For I am guided through channels of the holistic cistern. Hallow offerings to the light are sifted Into the minds of wanderers whose puttylike souls Continue to bleed when the rain cries into the sea. Ambiguity of chiseled minds grows with steam, And the sallow choir tabulates points For those with self proclaimed sainthood. For only the true heart of the mirth Can inspire sanctity within the eyes of babes, But the encumbering fish who lay awake With sorrow are the ones who remain frozen in time.