For J and The Okay

Listen well you mortal men,

The coast can spare no sands,

It is time to us to speak aloud,

Words the wretched sends,

Tonight we pay fate homage,

And stumble into truth,

The litany of prideful praise,

For the scratching of the noose.

 

I call my muse of terror,

Compel her reconstruct my mind,

She sweeps through me like fire,

But to the pain I’m blind,

You are cold in the muddy baths,

If passion flies the bird,

So rest my sweet and listen,

The muse relays the word,

 

I should be cold with you,

Feeling kills for what it leaves,

Of frozen tears the screams ensue,

Both she above and you below,

Wreak havoc in good time,

I see your faces fall of flesh,

 But hear her ripping rhymes

Where neither cares of what I hold,

The space between Gods blinks,

Little treasures to be sold,

Or fragments borne of end?

 

She cares of nothing under sky,

Beast and man shall fall as one,

Savage harmony bound to cage,

I tell of all and speak of none,

Tangled masses amassing graves,

Bright eyes but shortened years,

We knew him not so well,

But still we tell our tale in tears,

 

A record plays repeating that,

I know each beat by heart,

As my intrigue lamely sat,

I knew him from the start,

Each play it gains another scratch,

With rhymes so unexpected,

No boastful mountains could’ve matched,

The stressors it’s projected,

The mundane shouldn’t pain me so,

As death that echoes deep,

Where sentiment plays soft for woe,

He lives full in my grief.

 

Nothingness the shiny scythe,

He’s neither friend nor fiend,

The gentle of completed freedom,

The unknowing of what’s seen,

He and I live alone most days,

In you he lives as well,

We pray to him, buckled kneeling,

In our heavens and our hells,

 

Last night I heard a scratching,

It cast a fury on the door,

My legs we wobbled walking,

So I opened to no more,

He gleams in frosted windows,

He whispers in my songs,

Yet when I go to hold him,

Even the shovel marks are gone.