There are times that I really hate the way my mind works. This is such a one.
A city wrought of steel and glass, that shone amidst the light, Through which flowed inspiration, that glowing river bright, Falls now to dark, corrupted by the bitter touch of night, And the streets below, in shadow swathed, are hidden now from sight, The mighty buildings, tall and graceful, reaching to the sky, Now twist and warp, like jagged claws, as if the stars to pry, Or snatch and cast down anything, that might yet dare to fly, If with the coming darkness, spirits proud should seek to vie, That river fair, that fed it all, with ever present glitter, Now thickly rolls, black and foul, a source of poison bitter, And in place of bright thoughts that used to dance and flitter, Are aborted creatures, malformed, 'pon many legs they skitter, Those ordered streets and avenues, that sped the flight of thought, Now twist and turn upon themselves, by shadow they're re-wrought, Into dark alleyways and corridors, each one with peril fraught, By twisted creatures, those remaining residents are sought, And tortured artist, once more takes up razored brush of words, To paint the darkened vision that, his waking mind, disturbs.
yeah, it sucks, but considering the subject matter is that really any surprise?
This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Sep 22 2015, 10:56 PM
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A mind without purpose will walk in dark places
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