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Scarlet haze
Staring at me with an unflinching gaze, unspoken accusations hanging in the air-guilty or not? How can I answer that question? What is real? Which is true?
The blame and the shame are all the same. I float high above the mundane.
A long time ago, I left everything behind and cut off all my ties to learn how to fly. No more fledgling, no longer naive; I see the truth and sense what is real. I can smell the deceit from miles away; I have learned how to tell.
Say when, say what, and say how. Go and teach them to never again fall for superficial charms. Immune to all lies.
The solitary traveler traverses the swamp, trying to reach the other side, free from the dirt and all the thoughts he left behind. Tabula Rasa, a fresh start.
Each end has a beginning, and each action causes a reaction. The carrot and the stick, the light and the darkness, are forever entwined in a Danse Macabre. Abandoned hopes are like lost souls, and the woeful screams of the damned echo inside his tormented head.
He yearns for the unknown, and his wounds refuse to heal. The agonies are no longer there, replaced by soft pain. He is stunned, he cannot feel; his heart, baptized in lies, has turned into cold steel.
From now on, his road will be cobbled with graveyard stones. The murky waters, the ancient scars, the mad reflection in his lifeless eyes.
He knows, he sees, and he accepts it all. The scarlet haze and the crimson mist follow his steps.
He is the judge and the executioner, the Gorgon's heads dangling attached to his belt. He mounts the chariots of war and is the harbinger of unspoken woes until he remains no longer the man he has become.
Deep in his mind dwells a mysterious light, and deep in his core lies a solution to it all. A silent prayer never escaped his mind. Too much to ask, too little to gain. All he is and all he was became no more than a whisper, no more than a shade. Until all is swallowed by scarlet haze.
© Shinku
The blame and the shame are all the same. I float high above the mundane.
A long time ago, I left everything behind and cut off all my ties to learn how to fly. No more fledgling, no longer naive; I see the truth and sense what is real. I can smell the deceit from miles away; I have learned how to tell.
Say when, say what, and say how. Go and teach them to never again fall for superficial charms. Immune to all lies.
The solitary traveler traverses the swamp, trying to reach the other side, free from the dirt and all the thoughts he left behind. Tabula Rasa, a fresh start.
Each end has a beginning, and each action causes a reaction. The carrot and the stick, the light and the darkness, are forever entwined in a Danse Macabre. Abandoned hopes are like lost souls, and the woeful screams of the damned echo inside his tormented head.
He yearns for the unknown, and his wounds refuse to heal. The agonies are no longer there, replaced by soft pain. He is stunned, he cannot feel; his heart, baptized in lies, has turned into cold steel.
From now on, his road will be cobbled with graveyard stones. The murky waters, the ancient scars, the mad reflection in his lifeless eyes.
He knows, he sees, and he accepts it all. The scarlet haze and the crimson mist follow his steps.
He is the judge and the executioner, the Gorgon's heads dangling attached to his belt. He mounts the chariots of war and is the harbinger of unspoken woes until he remains no longer the man he has become.
Deep in his mind dwells a mysterious light, and deep in his core lies a solution to it all. A silent prayer never escaped his mind. Too much to ask, too little to gain. All he is and all he was became no more than a whisper, no more than a shade. Until all is swallowed by scarlet haze.
© Shinku
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