Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Interviewing spirits for a T.V. documentary Channeling a band that has their own discography A part of me wants your hardened view of reality
Faith Be Changed
The lady Esther had just laid the children to sleep. As she gathers her thoughts of what the Lord may be doing, she walks the hall that leads to his bedchamber. She rounds the corner and cannot believe what she sees. Her legs felt like iron. She tried to speak, but her voice was as quiet as a mouse. It did not seem to catch their attention, for they were lost in each other's eyes. The candle light in the hall was enough to see one another well, for they seemed as if they were in love. She finally manages to move a little. The stone beneath her foot made a sound that made them both turn their heads and see her standing there. He was stunned to see her stand there. He wonders how much she has seen of the two. She felt betrayed by the one she called her friend, lover, husband, and the father of their children. He tried to reach her, but she stepped out of his reach for she was able to move her body and run back the way she came. Tears run down her face as she tries to get back to her room, but she is suddenly stopped by a figure who is standing in front of her, holding his hand out. She hears a voice speak to her, but his lips do not move. "Come with me, for you will be in no more pain, no more sadness. But utter happiness." She moves slowly, reaching her hand to his. Than someone behind her says, "my Lady get away from him!" She turns fast and sees Captain a few steps behind her: running to her, trying to reach her. But is not fast enough, for he wrapped himself around her, drawing her close to him. With the sound of cracking thunder outside shining bright in the window next to them, the Lady and man were gone. Where did they go?
As so it goes, pain changes people and pain demands to be felt. Such life, a necessity yet so cliche. It breeds from Mozart to the Rolling Stones, or so much as a spiral, criss-cross.
Hello, my name is Marv; The other day I realized I had a problem: I've been getting high off of pure visceral poetry. I've been looking for something that isn't there.
The time to breathe is nigh! We are the stuff of unknown. Embattled in and out of the years. I'll embrace you. Denounce you.
Beauty in Decay
A million outstretched arms beckon through fire-licked window panes. Torment displaced through shreds of decay. Silently we become.
Footsteps of the Departed
Woebegone we define. Infuse our lives together to wither in each other's arms. We've become tempered to the tyranny that has set the veneer across our eyes.
Everything happens in my throat tense tight pressed upwards vibrating against thought and arousal ferocity and foreboding
Once Under a Blue Moon
I wander streets to find somewhere elsewhere Just to see if and who would care Mouth runs dry and I yearn for nothing clear
You & I
"Realised In The Passions of life" Is This Love Don't Mistake Miss Understandings You & I, Created, "Inside Willfulness"
Rhythm of Life
RHYTHM OF LIFE WAS CHANGING ME MOVING FORWARD TO WHO I WAS GOING TO BE (WAS CHANGING TOO FAST) DISTANCE REFLECTIONS IN LIFE'S POOL
The air beside me is rigid and stale. What you gave me dissolves in my mouth moments after you leave. How I wish it would linger, like the marks on my back,