Drastic eradication of inconsistent spastic surges of deluded vessels pouring blasphimies over a gift made, gratefulness disregarded tossed to the ground muddied and forgotten, Build the wall let no one scale it, fortify the mote with sin and sacrifice, drench the ground with the slur of the thickness, suffocating those that dare come near, the veil has been set the door is close let those who approach beware, for we have stepped beyond the veil disrupted streams on your behalf, immolated the light so that you may walk without out blindness, yet disrespect is your septure and sarcasm your crown. Wallowing in your kingdoms of the marshland, for stagnant rot fills your bones, and an unquenchable fire in your mind, drives you to claw and tear down your own castles built of sand and strife.
About the Creator
Johnny Gerbrandt
Love lifting, love writing, love designing. My journey is a strange one but I love it. learning constantly.
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Empty
Incandescent streams of illiterate patterns of immemorial bliss, casting incoherent shadows of naked souls strun about like pine cones in fall. Cast the stone hear its sound infused with Dead wasps, dripping the salt from another, are these but intricate weavings of fallen particles that lost their way or abandoned their post. Where is the moment, now lost, never to be once, as if to see that which has never been. Have the possibilities faded or is our sight constrained, should we look, or is this the place of gods, Unseen slivers of experiences spread carelessly across infinity in one. More than one is incomprehensible to those that decay.
By Johnny Gerbrandt3 years ago in Poets
Silence
I don’t remember the day the world ended. But I do remember the day I noticed. That photo was it, but I did not know what it meant until I sat in my darkened bathroom, staring at the newly developed film. The street was neither empty, nor abandoned. It was dead. The colours of the flowers wrapped in that red ribbon caught my eye, and as I crouched to take that photo, I could hear only the lonely silence of a graveyard after dark.
By Alexander McEvoy7 days ago in Fiction
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