The King

He was the rightful king, they’d pray,
and placed on him the crown to bear.
This boy, this child, the only heir,
had politics, not toys, to play.

He was too young, and none too wise,
yet greatness was just his to claim.
A lad that grew to rule and fame,
and soon his golden throne should rise.

The royal mind, though, served a fight,
until from childish dreams he weaned
himself, and drowned all hope in blight.

He knew once friends, now they were fiend,
who would but slaver for his might.
But soon he had them all demeaned.

He was a weary king, they feared.
The castle fell to time and dust.
Left was nothing, but mistrust,
Till one by one they disappeared.

For in his madness, he brought pain
to all he thought himself opposed.
Quick, the death for all that posed
a threat to what he clawed in vain:

This throne, not meant for mere a boy,
A crown that sealed his heart away–
a heart, so frail, so bare of joy,

that it, to all of their dismay,
sought in the end just to destroy
the few that for his sake would stay.

He was a bitter king, they said,
and bitter, true, he ruled.
None, save one, could have him fooled–
The demon’s dream within his head.

His lands then withered far apart,
and, too, so did his mind.
Soon left was no one dear or kind;
just barrens, and a plaque at heart.

His crown stretched big to blind the eyes,
this gilded throne broke coal instead,
He trusted no word, save his lies.

The stitch of soul was bare of thread–
This kingdom came, so its demise.
I was the rightful king; they said.

Timeless (Endzeit)

Our friends marched for us proud,
sirens sing the war songs loud;
Songs from fall after their pride.

Mushrooms cloud the skies beyond,
as our hearts in hate respond.
Lost we all guilt for those that died?

 

The wind sighs still, it’s raining light,
and the grin of death spreads wide
before an irony undone.

Timeless now a man guards steady,
with his rifle at the ready,
as once his father, soon his son.

Choke

Breathless, like the quiet breeze,
rests your silence in my strife.
Timeless, as a soul at peace,
but worthless, as emotions freeze,
is it my heart that leaves your life.

But you, still, look deep me in my eyes;
say, is there madness or a star?
Though still, you pull the string of lies;
Don’t you know, we yearn demise?
We drift away from what we are.

So taste the bitter in my kiss,
the ashes, that I now adore.
We cry for what we surely miss;
the wounded wind becomes a hiss,
till nothing chokes of life no more.

Beyond dreams

I will dream like wolfs astray,
in worlds made for the silent lambs.
Conform, in fit with holy scams,
I stood no chance as willing prey;
too scared of truth to dare the fray.

I go to bed with snakes and shame,
with forked belief, Uroborus;
’till deadly my own vice arose –
and now, awake, the beast lays claim
to set my world of peace aflame.

It rips apart my view of Me.
As snake bites tail, and wolf claws deep,
I drop the rotting skin of sheep,
the mask of fake and unity,
Real is all I seek to be.

Did too far my dream has led?
My very soul assumes no more …
I watch the life, that I once wore,
and wished I’d feel at all, but dead,
as air is filling full regret.

I’m choking on enlightenment.
Reallities, they sufficate –
and None means All before my fate,
here, where all my time is spent.
There, where death and I ascent …

I’ve dreamt as lamb of the mundane,
the empty shells, the herds of skin.
In dreams I gave myself to sin,
and wished I could just once regain,
what stirrs behind my hope; in vain.