Thursday, February 26, 2004
CLOAKED
Scratch the pad to make sure the ink runs
Silence in the air except for the slow tunes and the mind of one
Pressing on, pushing creativity to a point of no return
An hour past the oil of midnight burn
I come in peace ready to release my anger like a shark
I’m completely at ease as I write in the dark
Now the tunes are none as the lyrics were too piercing
Stabbing at the old wounds, it’s fierce seeing
The memories play out like a flick
Except there is no ending, no credits a rolling
free to all so no tickets
Are ever requested, just the presence to lend an ear
As I send you near my soul as it appears
Guided by emotions, distracted by fears
It’s hard to tell the dreams from reality
reality from nightmares
Step by step, but in what direction am I going
Towards the mindless rivers a flowing
Towards the peaks of mountains snowing
Towards the fields of grasses growing
I need the knowledge, I need the knowing
I need the essence of wonder blowing
I need the body of a lady showing
All I have missed, pulling, towing
Bringing me to my euphoria, my state in which all aspects of myself act in unison
For the simple goal of pleasure, this darkness is comforting, but it would be more so if one
Were no longer alone, were no longer needing to be strong
I want someone to share my dreams with literally, is that so wrong
Passion burns, passion fades, passion plays the role of escapade. Tremoring heart with no stairs to climb inflicted by love so dumb is the mind. Thunderous thoughts of rage and sentiment, built as a fortress containing each element that is needed to flourish, except one keeps escaping past the guards. Not hope, not fantasy, but its longevity that discards
by Paul Bascomb
Scratch the pad to make sure the ink runs
Silence in the air except for the slow tunes and the mind of one
Pressing on, pushing creativity to a point of no return
An hour past the oil of midnight burn
I come in peace ready to release my anger like a shark
I’m completely at ease as I write in the dark
Now the tunes are none as the lyrics were too piercing
Stabbing at the old wounds, it’s fierce seeing
The memories play out like a flick
Except there is no ending, no credits a rolling
free to all so no tickets
Are ever requested, just the presence to lend an ear
As I send you near my soul as it appears
Guided by emotions, distracted by fears
It’s hard to tell the dreams from reality
reality from nightmares
Step by step, but in what direction am I going
Towards the mindless rivers a flowing
Towards the peaks of mountains snowing
Towards the fields of grasses growing
I need the knowledge, I need the knowing
I need the essence of wonder blowing
I need the body of a lady showing
All I have missed, pulling, towing
Bringing me to my euphoria, my state in which all aspects of myself act in unison
For the simple goal of pleasure, this darkness is comforting, but it would be more so if one
Were no longer alone, were no longer needing to be strong
I want someone to share my dreams with literally, is that so wrong
Passion burns, passion fades, passion plays the role of escapade. Tremoring heart with no stairs to climb inflicted by love so dumb is the mind. Thunderous thoughts of rage and sentiment, built as a fortress containing each element that is needed to flourish, except one keeps escaping past the guards. Not hope, not fantasy, but its longevity that discards
by Paul Bascomb
