deepundergroundpoetry.com
Just Like Nomads
Video Recording @:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKX-YPYIqmY
The rat just hit another bar,
Tonight he’s already gone too far...
Making enemies with the sun,
Hitting on the heroine...
It’s all right, she was looking for
The villain tonight...
Blurried sidewalks full of eyes,
Behind the amber windows the warm dream lies...
Guarded by the vagrant in thrift cloth,
Holding out his cup for its’ empty doom...
While the damsel's crying on the church steps,
Underneath the stardoms...
‘Cause friday night is kicking alive,
But there are those of us who can barely survive...
Dealing off the crusted rinds,
In their ashtray living room of drastic shines...
Again the ancient races start,
But they somehow have always missed the mark...
In tiny huddled embers of might,
Just like nomads with no home but the Night.
The store fronts have been boarded up,
To make way for the charging swine...
But they drift on as intricate cobwebs,
Hidden upstairs in their forbidden guild...
Wagering their souls with the dark,
Avoiding the time when they pay for their part...
Again the ancient trials start,
But they somehow have always gotten off...
In the trudging lines to Charon’s raft,
Just like nomads with no home but the Path.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKX-YPYIqmY
The rat just hit another bar,
Tonight he’s already gone too far...
Making enemies with the sun,
Hitting on the heroine...
It’s all right, she was looking for
The villain tonight...
Blurried sidewalks full of eyes,
Behind the amber windows the warm dream lies...
Guarded by the vagrant in thrift cloth,
Holding out his cup for its’ empty doom...
While the damsel's crying on the church steps,
Underneath the stardoms...
‘Cause friday night is kicking alive,
But there are those of us who can barely survive...
Dealing off the crusted rinds,
In their ashtray living room of drastic shines...
Again the ancient races start,
But they somehow have always missed the mark...
In tiny huddled embers of might,
Just like nomads with no home but the Night.
The store fronts have been boarded up,
To make way for the charging swine...
But they drift on as intricate cobwebs,
Hidden upstairs in their forbidden guild...
Wagering their souls with the dark,
Avoiding the time when they pay for their part...
Again the ancient trials start,
But they somehow have always gotten off...
In the trudging lines to Charon’s raft,
Just like nomads with no home but the Path.
Published 28th Feb 2016
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comments 3
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28th Feb 2016 6:04pm
29th Feb 2016 6:56am
Man it's an addictive spiral when we follow the hard road that sets up there, in the Hell centers. There's so much grime and so little pity or motivation past the instant release from the foulness of being. That endless fountain of rot becomes our blood and what shakes the thirst.
But sooner or later we all come home. The highlighting of how some never strayed from the start is well delivered with
Again the ancient trials start,
But they somehow have always gotten off...
In the trudging lines to Charon’s raft,
Just like nomads with no home but the Path.
Thanks for releasing this blue postcard from Hell, Jim.
But sooner or later we all come home. The highlighting of how some never strayed from the start is well delivered with
Again the ancient trials start,
But they somehow have always gotten off...
In the trudging lines to Charon’s raft,
Just like nomads with no home but the Path.
Thanks for releasing this blue postcard from Hell, Jim.
29th Feb 2016 5:57pm
Love it, very good flow, and a perfect topic for today. Thank you for the inspiration!
