Post by StoriesThatNeverWere on Apr 7, 2007 9:17:38 GMT -5
I Stand At The Edge of the World
The wind enslaves me into a battle
A battle I surrender to, crippled
The thrashing blow of an unknown phenomenon
Captures me in its forceful embrace
And strips me bare of all knowledge
Then comes brother LIGHTENING
Striking the air with a mortal assault
He intimates, piercing me with agile needles
Sister THUNDER stops sound with her moan of anguish
She tramples me with rock tons and crushes my heels
She shrieks of my sins and mocks till I cannot hold tears
The naive ocean is poor under force
She drowns the ground slowly as she shushes pleadingly
Her tide captures my ankles and wrinkles them to paper
Wicked Earth kidnaps me into a spinning motion
Drunkening me on wooziness until I collapse
My hands are new victims of the water
And dissolve until they are no longer mine
My tears have run empty and cry the juice of my veins
Blood enters the looming moat and dyes her skin a red smoke
It is then I speak the words pastly mute
It is then I reveal the creator of the storm
I let loose a story I swore never to share
Freezing Time against her will
And when the confession ends, I await demise…
Yet always am I fooled by misthoughts
The weather has released me
The wind has faded into night
The ocean calmly strolls with the shore
And the sky above is only blanketed fireflies
My eyes opened to find a scene so unlike visions
And so unlike the dire dreads of my heart…
I soon realize that the storm was imaginary
She is created by my mind and youth
She passes on and is reborn
But always will she forgive when I become wise
The wind enslaves me into a battle
A battle I surrender to, crippled
The thrashing blow of an unknown phenomenon
Captures me in its forceful embrace
And strips me bare of all knowledge
Then comes brother LIGHTENING
Striking the air with a mortal assault
He intimates, piercing me with agile needles
Sister THUNDER stops sound with her moan of anguish
She tramples me with rock tons and crushes my heels
She shrieks of my sins and mocks till I cannot hold tears
The naive ocean is poor under force
She drowns the ground slowly as she shushes pleadingly
Her tide captures my ankles and wrinkles them to paper
Wicked Earth kidnaps me into a spinning motion
Drunkening me on wooziness until I collapse
My hands are new victims of the water
And dissolve until they are no longer mine
My tears have run empty and cry the juice of my veins
Blood enters the looming moat and dyes her skin a red smoke
It is then I speak the words pastly mute
It is then I reveal the creator of the storm
I let loose a story I swore never to share
Freezing Time against her will
And when the confession ends, I await demise…
Yet always am I fooled by misthoughts
The weather has released me
The wind has faded into night
The ocean calmly strolls with the shore
And the sky above is only blanketed fireflies
My eyes opened to find a scene so unlike visions
And so unlike the dire dreads of my heart…
I soon realize that the storm was imaginary
She is created by my mind and youth
She passes on and is reborn
But always will she forgive when I become wise
The storm was a metaphor of teenage breakdowns. (Which I have experienced more then my share of.) When we think it is the end of the world, but eventually we heal.