It's just a number,
isn't it?
And yet… it is more…
They are more…
But first… you
should know… that there is
A separation. A
dichotomy. A contrast of black and white.
Dark and Light. Sea
and Sky. Sink, and you will not survive.
The smallest of
satisfactions,
Or unbounded
despair,
These two roads to
the future lie in wait from here.
Lost in the ocean,
A storm is brewing,
The judgement comes
soon,
Will this one
outswim the terrors,
Before they are
dragged to their doom?
The months go by and
the sounds get louder,
Day by torturous
day,
A rhythm develops,
the storm envelops,
One is coming to
fate.
The sounds are here!
Two angry marks
recall,
All the glory and
all the pain,
Of the fighting of
the voices.
And the warring in
the brain.
They compel me to
give up,
To hedonize the time
away,
Voices echoing deep
into eternity.
Were the soul
sterner in its structure,
It would not mind
the ringing,
Louder and sharper
than of even the most ebullient metal bells sounding the glory of a thousand
nations,
In eternal twilight
as they bathe in the writhing defeat of their opposition.
The sharp discordant
cacophonies reside not in those ears,
But find a home
between.
Mocking, laughing,
raging,
Dissolving into one,
separate, and then dissolve again.
The arcanities of
this chemistry remain an arcane mystery.
Of birth and of
death of these sonic harpies:
I hold to be
unknowable,
But know that they
are, they most definitely are,
And this alone is
important.
The infinite
mysteries of the unbounded depths,
And of Krakens and
Leviathans, Charybdis and Scylla,
Are the brethren and
sistren, the comrades and cousins
Of the terrible
sounds.
They shriek late
into the night
Under guise
Of the luring Siren
songs.
They run amok and
hide,
From the gaze
Of the mind's eye.
The sounds
They pull
My mind
It fights
And the number cries
out in the night.
When twilight dies
and births new daylight,
Will I still taste
the air?
Or be dragged down
into nothingness,
By the demons of
despair?