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Do you dream of me...
Author: John Storm
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***
Do you dream of me
As you ride across the barren, windswept steppes
From out of the East, into the dying sun?
Tides of darkness, blackened crimson glory
Etched across the newborn stars,
You come, you who would seek my hand...
Your lips ask me for silent permission
Above the earth
Suspended from my temple of sorrows
You lower your dark eyes
It would appear my need is as great as yours
Your body gives way to my burning caress
You touch me and your touch is ice
Pressed against me, vision of death in life
You betray your need
This night
As I fall into the midnight of your eyes.
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Dystopia chooses a new bridegroom...
Author: John Storm
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***
Dystopia chooses a new bridegroom
Unblinking dreameyes, emerald nightmares, pretend they're real
Another pathetic platitude is lost on them
The Fates are better served just to end this whirlwind
Which consumes the withered husk of me
Passions decay into faint mutterings
As my heart destroys the person I might be
Protect me now, penetrate the void
A substitute for wonder and childlike dreams
Erase the whole, betrayal of passing days, all is clear now
Need drawn in crimson scar-glyphs
A portrait
Unveiled to show a fool
Curled in a fetal ball
The longing for wholeness destroys me.
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I voice my motives...
Author: John Storm
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***
I voice my motives
From within a broken cage,
Foreshadowing countless bouts of tragedy.
I suppose I could move on gracefully
In gentlemanly fashion,
Subtle and eloquent,
And dress my dreams up for you;
I can pretend them to be something else,
Oh, so pleasing to the senses,
Lacking only absolution
With no net worth or consequence.
I will not learn;
I will never learn.
There can be no negotiation;
These words are meaningless
Endless streams of incoherence,
Vain attempts to mask the dreams
Where I find myself filled with apathy
And then perhaps I will despise
All that I held dear
And gag on the taste
Of hope.
There is a special kind of pleasure
In destroying things
And even more fulfillment
In destroying people,
Or so I am told,
So I marvel in awe, humbled,
Halfway home, halfway there
Unless this is temporary,
An aberration,
But it was a long time in coming
And it makes absolutely no difference
To anyone
In terms of practicality.
I think this hurts
But I can't really tell any more.
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Not all of us talk to angels....
Author: John Storm
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***
Not all of us talk to angels
And if everything old
Is new once more
Then what remains?
It is not my intention
To know who you are;
My silence speaks for itself
And I am starting to find
The taste of escape
Irresistible
So many wishes inside,
Quarantined
In a dimly-lit room
With the window open a crack
Only at night,
No longer a part of me...
I know who you are
And I know who I am.
A child
Lives inside of me
And the sound of his voice
Is a scream
Sliced through a razor smile
Of innocence lost
Yet still existing,
Never to be silenced
In the city unborn
Lying across the desert,
Dissolving in an acid
Of light
But tell no one
Tell no one
Tell no one
Or my place of hiding
Will be no more.
The vultures roost in Wonderland;
This is its own reward.
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The dreams rivet waking eyes...
Author: John Storm
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***
The dreams rivet waking eyes
The words inside a lullaby
I restore my soul intact and
I will sing for you a soliloquy
Weaving the silent dawn
Through essence of dewdrops,
Dancing as our world burns
And shattering it anew
Your eyes are endless streams, silent
What could i ever ask of you?
I cannot dream your reality
I can but exist as myself
Though stars from afar
Rekindle within my clutched hands
Touch me now we have no time
For the drawing of a breath
I embrace you ever so closely
As dawn ignites the sky
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