fatalpoetry

So many hours have I spent pent up in my fortress, er...well, townhome, writing away. I have pages and pages, tucked inbetween the pages of books, in boxes, in binders, on shelves. Some appear to be dictations of grocery lists gone awry, where common household items suddenly (and sadly disappointingly) degenerate into things like 'name brand sugar' or additive-free crackers. No, I don't know what I was on Seriously though, thoughts are a dime a dozen, which is why they should be written down, especially if you know a place where you can cash them in!

Withering & Wilting

Oh, mournful requiem in the final embers of autumn smoulder
Desolate may they darken bequeath lamentations asunder
Threnodies wail out across the bleak visages of time
Effigies to the unhallowed through misery we must climb
Downward strew are the leaves of yellow and red
As the last remnants of seasonal life are shed
And the air that crispens with the scent of the wither
Is the advent of the darkening nights that to us hither

From this shadowy night does the darkness flow
And in the arms of silence do we rapt in woe
The sound of withering so serene and imbue
Through the veil of mist do we proceed on through
In wraiths and in wealth do we in shroud anoint
The bursting of life to decay shall not disappoint
For the treasures of the carrion are but that of kings?
The exist to us free atop the majestic of wings

Through these woods does the beying resound
And with the strewn foilage dark beauty I found
Up Through knotted and ravaged branches the moon upon my face found
And in this nocturnal obedience, intoxicated I drowned
And all around the fluttering of leather wings did pierce
My grieving season, so fiery and fierce
And the smell of the earth and its crawling wounds
Were carried to me on this unsettling nights winds

Wither on season, a majestic eternal wilt
In this autumnal embrace, I lie in repose of bloodguilt
The deceased bright days are now gray and sullen
Where a dark horizon now dawns and death has befallen
Wither on season, wilting and shriveling in perfection grim consummation
I walk this candle lit path in this doomy iniquitous aberration
Where the grasp of the dark is forever within
In this unluminous swarth is where I have always been.

Disinterred memories are of a murdered spiritual past
The profane infinte darkness is the bleak season to last
Haunted is my mind of these visions amongst the leaves
In this nocturnal order of decay, the fortunate soul grieves
Withering lands of the sinister autumn return
Wilting is the hope that now on the funeral pyre burn