Lake of Fire (08.23.12)

The Urn Burns (All Souls Procession)

The Urn Burns (All Souls Procession) (Photo credit: cobalt123)

We lay in waste in the Lake of Fire
As the clouds rain oil in which we bathe,
We people who suffer in pain and fury,
We the people who couldn’t be saved

We slowly burn, burn alive,
As our skin bubbles, sloughs and slips,
Liquified flesh that slides and drips,
And lifts off our bones
Which crack in the heat,
Our backs so black, blue and beat

Our silly souls are snuck and stole,
Caught and carried and cast away

Our ears are eagerly deafened
By our own squealing shrills,
Like sizzling meat on a white hot grill,
Charred to perfection and seasoned to taste,
Cooked slow and steady
As the fires burn our face

We drown in fire wishing we could fly,
We roast in water as we wait to die,
Our wings have been cut
Our souls have been taken,
We beg for dear death
To come cease our aching

To what end do we wait? My friends and I,
To sit in this fire while Satan gets high?
Let’s flip and fight with our little time left,
Retake our souls or give it our best!

That bastard Devil with his evil jest,
Spear his throat and gouge his chest!
Let’s stand and shout and give him hell,
Destroy his house, and heart as well,
Let’s make him suffer, slow and steady,
Like the souls he cooked over heat so deadly

His blood slowly drips, slips and slides,
Glistening wet, down to his thighs,
Like the blood of Christ
From the crown of thorns,
The red menace, the burden beast,
Had eaten our souls as his very last feast

But don’t make the mistake, this isn’t revenge,
We’ve risen to life after three days of death
To save ourselves and save our friends,
We’re nothing like saviors, nothing like saints,
But we brush the sky with happy and hope,
With lust-less love and bright blue paints

With heads held high and souls saved at last,
We who suffer have retaken our grasp,
On poverty and pain,
On love and desire,
No longer we suffer,
In this Lake of Fire.

 

 

 

Senseless (08.03.12)

The beauty of the world
lay before me,
but I am blind;
I cannot see

the voices of help are
directed toward my ears,
but I am deaf;
I cannot hear

the hands of comfort
are perched on my skin,
but I do not
feel a thing

the smell of peace in a
green gracious garden,
is fully, factually,
unknown to me

the taste of victory, unable
to penetrate my tongue;
which dried up
long ago

no help has been helpful,
no hand has been grasped,
all things righteous,
never even passed

my nerves are dead,
my face,
sags down to the ground,
my limbs are limp and my heart
cannot be found

I am an empty shell,
all life sucked out and soul
sunk down to hell.