Friday, May 22, 2009

The Dead Moon - by Scott Michael Heath

It is on the eve, the brink
Poets lost forever
Walls shrink to rubble
Chaos looms over guns and reason
Echos of the rebel are heard
I cast no evil pain
But those of us know different
Run while you can I say
Freedom waits not now or ever
Like tones we set
Inside these grooves
Like boots kick speed
The horse's hooves
Like flashes glaring
Blind and moved
We are the dark
Behind Dead Moon

Beneath this foul of slum and doom
The waking cries that come too soon
Where false dreams wander 'neath your skin
To bring your depths back up again
For shallow graves of thought repast
Shield us from the doubt they cast
13 lie beneath these tombs
Where outcasts stand and anger looms
It hooks my mind this silver spoon
Scratched into this marred Dead Moon

In the the corridors the light has ceased
Things move in shadows 'cross your feet
The phantoms's wings of ice and dark
Are cutting tombstones in your hearts
I fear the time when moons will die
And lay in pools of liquid sky
Shattered like old discs and bones
Stranded in the mystery zone

In midnight's path where wings collide
Thunder sounds and lightening hides
The moon so red above the clouds
It must be bleeding, dying now
Where wires barbed into the skies
The maniac with tombstone eyes
Within the wall an evil lives
Into the dust in crumbling slips
The longhorn scream, this moment trapped
Beyond all this in Dead Moon tracks

Tread not upon these neon streets
Where ideas die before you dream
Where age have bent the wild will
And violent voices have been stilled
I ache inside this silent tomb
For youth's been taken much too soon
Adrift as morbid thoughts explode
Of things misjudged so long ago
This distant plan where thoughts revolt
Descend into the Dead Moon soul

Destinations no one's seen
Flights where no one else has been
Drawn by dark beneath the floors
The echos faintly call once more
Ill of dead who speak in breaths
No longer fear arresting death
Existing in these walled-up tombs
Strangely praying in this doom
I've heard that fleeting, crying sound
Wondering where they're going now
For those forgotten can't remain
Alone their silence fills the space
Death is waiting onforeseen
For those who dare not live their dreams
How could I come so far so soon
My life, my blood, my dying moon

Unprotected, unforseen
Dreams of things that might have been
My eyes were open way back then
Those days will never come again
We crashed the gates to no avail
Watched the stars that rose and fell
A thousand wings were sent asky
But needles danced inside their eyes
Youth was robbed in needles greed
The system swallowed every seed
We lost the sound that echoed dear
Our generation disappeared
Felt the empty streets decay
Where promised ones were led astray
Along those paths my dreams fell cold
But swear to god they'll never know
The moon has cast the ricochets
Into the night of things that may
Knowing that we dare go back
To watch the system start to crack

Beware the scarecrow lost in flight
Things that shift though out of sight
Fear the beast that hides within
Where deadly nervous doubts begin
For sooner shall the cycle tread
Like footsteps of the walking dead
Subtle changes seeming mere
Grave mistakes so seldom clear
The imperfection diamond rough
Will be a different diamond cut

When all the things worth dying for
Have crossed onto a different shore
When time has spent its last remains
Never to return again
When wired hard in thoughts so cold
We lose ourselves of long ago
When innocence is laid to rest
While desperation takes the best
Down narrow tracks we come of age
Should we forget from where we came

Where visions bend beneath the light
The dreaded dream that comes by night
We walk so softly through the day
Drifting thoughts of might and may
The aging legion dimmed in dark
Casting shadows cross our heart
Destinations nowhere down
Dust and ashes underground
Some things are better left unfound

I traced the lines that held the points
Bent and warped and severed joints
Mental prisons, thoughts revolt
To weld us all the same result
Unformed and weapons hung
Dare we question why it s clone
This mare of tricks on our behalf
To pray we have the final laugh
We count the years beyond the grave
Return to find that nothing s changed

No comments:

Post a Comment