terça-feira, 24 de dezembro de 2013

C is for Coming [THE ALPHADEATH CODEX]



The sound of muffled footsteps across the stone hall
Announced her presence though the icy hospital
And unquietly I dreamt of a long lost home
The pounding on the limestone floor sounded as none
I become aware of the ever untold endless blight
She is here, secreted by the veil of Christmas night

Electric signals mark uneasy pace
Like the stiches in a doll with childish form
Like childish is my corpse to become
Slivery crimson traces the rhythm of the race
Alas, in my place, none to be ran so far
The winter fell with the shortest night
Oh nightly night warms my soul better
Than the Bethlehem star, far from me thy light
For trapped I am in the coiled of the black adder

For all I see now is an angel in white gown
Dare I not utter the minutest sound
For dazzled in waves of sea profound
I’ll sink beneath unholy ground  
She is here, I have been found

Morphine dripping
Machines beeping
My heart skips a beat
My cells in anarchy
My body shredding
My demise is now complete

- “She is here”, I muttered
A motionless heart no longer bleeding
Raised above my body, so still
Bless me Jesus for I am coming
Thy birth by thy side I’ll be celebrating
Hand in hand I am now led
Guide my soul oh lady Death

domingo, 15 de dezembro de 2013

B is for Bold [THE ALPHADEATH CODEX]




Mother knows best, so she keeps on saying, wailing at my near deaf ears,
Not much care, not even a stare caught me unaware shedding tiny tears.
Yet, days become weeks, months become years and now here I am, no longer unaware.
There I was about to be driven beyond mischievous play, fears turning to nightmare
Alas, motherly love indifferent, girl to become acquiescent, beware!

A fortnight to pass, sliding like a venomous snare entrapping me in a mirror hall.
Has my faith laid in a pool of atrocious convenience, forbidding any brazen gall?
To be outspoken, a porcelain doll broken, given to other like a mere hand token…

As mother knows best, day succeeded into a night to be past, to unknown taker,
Will the shadowman this gentle heart break for mere entertainment?
Will my soul stop containing the dismal shriek that my poor brain invades?
Or will he just lay my living corpse in the thorn bed of Hades…
Close your eyes little girl, let those lashes be thy shade!

And so the party, most entertaining to guests and flamboyant pretenders,
Rushed through the evening of my delivering to another,
To the greatest pleasure of the victorious regent mother.
No longer had I bothered with anything but her sage utterings,
My sufferings ignoring, while my thoughts kept exploring the face of a future husband,
Staring at me from the crowd gently swaying between the living room dull paintings.
Wanderlust I sway, but the moon held nothing in return as my heart jumped in craze,
He is coming to me, mother’s holding the gent’s hand, no more hiding in my mind’s maze. 

There I was, acquaintance to a stranger, his smile a vortex to my unsteady soul,
He muttered some kind word, mother understood, bowed and left, leaving me to death…
We engaged in a shy conversation, strolling the hall as we really spoke of nothing at all.
Nerve endings burned my outer skin as he mock smiled whilst he gazed my dreary eyes
As I felt the scavenger’s grip would drive me into deep in agony bellow,
A step led us outside to wander in the balcony, while contemplating the city lights, slow.

And his masters voice kept overflowing with deeds and conquerors achievements,
For my stare laid in the willow’s amber leaves, nine stores bellow the moonlit balcony row,
Losing their weight in the evening’s breeze, dancing delighted in a delightful show.
Languidly the avenue closedown, lit by the late evening’s embers glow.
I dared to ask my to be wed everlasting pair which colour he preferred,
And lifting his hand, pointing to my trembling face he caught me by surprise and said:
- “Red as your burning lips, white as your curvy hips that my heart leaves so mellow
And added, may I be so bold to perhaps recite Othelo?”

Startled by a devilish instinct I twitched in angst as his sinful eyes pierced me like an arrow
And as sinfully I replied to my knightly armed dull engager with the most doubtful grin:
-  “To marry you I’ll never will, I’d rather turn my eyes black and my red lips yellow”
As my arms outreached and pushed the incredulous fake prince off the balcony rim,
Nine stores he fell, as in slow motion I bid farewell to my unimpressive fellow…

Impossibilidades

É onde a cabeça de uma sweet little sixteen cai, frequentemente. Rola, desespero abaixo e, pum, estilhaça-se no vazio. Foge, acelerada, do...