Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Post Modern Times
shotgun wedding to the face
a marriage between
Heaven and Hell - where the planetary brains splatter
out the skull onto the celestial cathedral walls
of a baby universe
in awe of infinite probabilities
She came at me
sliding a coffin with one hand and swinging a snake in the other
dressed in white straps and buckles
a bridal gown made up of straight-jackets
without reflective science or revelation laden mysticism to save me
floundering knowledge set against this stark portrait of companionship distancing itself from romantic salvation and meditative solitude, BREAK CLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, (a programmable sanity)
like glass - an imaginary border
shattering in the mind's eye,
but aren't we all just human
with the lonely hunger for the comfort of others with the greatest of expectations
in a realm of hollow expenses?
The Snake Goddess -- Halvor Bagge
The House on the Hill
It is just an ordinary night or so it seems
The rays of the moon beaming right through my window pane,
Noise of crickets echoes through the darkness
There is no other hum to listen to but the mere breaths I take.
There is a house on top of a hill
where daring boys dare not go,
where even the birds are still,
where all is quiet as the grave.
A winding road leads to the old house,
With cracked walls and scattered debris
A deafening silence welcomes you to an eerie ambiance,
On a dark night such as this with no stars in sight.
Do spirits roam this lonely sanctuary?
Some are enchanted by its haunted stance
Gives them shivers and goose bumps all around,
Mystic shadows may be lurking waiting for prey.
Legends speak of a murder most foul and evil,
a woman and three children, and no one survived,
but on cold, moonless nights, you will hear
the sounds of fear, of the living buried alive.
The killer was a scorned lover, I've heard it said,
or the husband, or a vagrant, or the Devil himself.
The bodies were never found, no one came near,
nobody saw them, but everyone knows they're here.
Haunted House -- Ken Meyer