No Mercy For The Devil

How Long Has It Been?

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Sat, 24 Jun 2017 03:33:00 +0000

How long has it been?

I can remember very little about your face. I can still feel your hand on mine, but no more can I see the way your smile outlines your eyes. No more can I pick you from a crowd. There are thousands of faces, blurred beyond recognition.

These walls don't even feel the same anymore. They once confined me and kept me warm. They are now cold and scarce. Only holes remain where your picture once hung. Your memory seems to be split and fractured like the floor before me. To the end of the world I followed you; To the end of the world I could never get enough. We stood together on the edge of oblivion and took back the darkness.

There was a day years ago that robbed me of that. There was an incident that took my ability to express myself as if I were drowning on land. I do not feel the same as I once was. I do not feel a confident writer. Your figure seems to mellow and not be the demanding woman you once were. You, who picked me up, dusted me off, and handed me an ax, are but a mere vague memory. I crave for that back. I feel like less than a hero and more of a victim of society. The world has shown me more than I thought I could ever battle; less than I could ever hold.

That day, I thought my life was over. That day, I had visions of dying on the side of the road and could not find your face. I could not find your help. I walked away from you and never saw you again. Do you know what it's like to feel dead inside? Do you know what it's like to meet yourself in the middle of a haze? There's no good days; no terrible; only gray.

I can't remember how long it has been since I closed my eyes and heard you scream my name. There's only once place I know that I can lean back, close my eyes, drift away and end up standing next to you. There's one place where we will stand on crumbling structures and fight back the darkness. There is only one place that takes me back to you.

As I close my heavy eyes, I can only think of how long it's been and if you'd remember me. The world around me goes black as I feel my body sink in. My body spasms as my brain isolates. My breathing slows and I slip into the darkness.

I start to hear the echoing screams in the distance. I open my eyes and see the darkness. I open my eyes and I see a light in the distance. Blurry and painfully dry, my eyes feel like they have been open for years. My throat so coarse, I choke on the wind. How long has it been?

As my sight comes into focus, i can see the shattered concrete above me. Bent rebar; shaped like my spine and suspended amazingly from a single wall torn into pieces. Chunks of plaster around me, debris strewn about as if this place has been abandoned for decades. Years of rain, snow, and ice have taken toll on this place. Barely a shelter from the elements, it is a miracle to still be recognizable as the house we once woke up in.

Then it hits me; Where is she? I come to the realization that I've come here to find her. To know if she knows who I am, tarnished from years of life on the other side. Will she remember me as the man I was or see me as the fallen gray-haired hero? Does she know my name and did she survive?

The world around me seems bleak and stark of life. More or less having the appearance of a great war. Mostly ruble and few yellow lines in the road to just give that glimmer of a previous life. I take a step down the shattered staircase to find nothing more than the same. A gray dust seems to cover the night sky like a set of sunglasses over the moon. This place is so quiet it makes me choke up inside. I can barely fight the tears back.

I walk for what seems like miles, but without a change of scenery, I could not be sure. The wind begins to wear me down and I start to loose faith, No memories of this place strike through to me. This place does not have the feeling it once did. The empty warehouses are no longer romantically abandoned and in disrepair, but instead collapsed and unrecognizable at first glance. They are more like mountains of concrete block and steel beam, covered in a grayish-blue haze.

This world is not what I walked away from. This world is desperate to find a hero again; desperate to bring back the moonlight. The silence is broken by a memory. I remember standing back to back as the crowds of evil race toward us. I remember her heat and hear the gut-wrenching scream. My arms grow heavy and begs me to look down. I see an ax, covered in blood in my left and a shotgun in the right. We are here again. The night the world came to rip our flesh from our bones. The night we battled until the world cracked beneath our feet.

I blink and I'm back to the stark world. Quickly I shut my eyes to get back to her, but it is futile. A fleeting memory.

As I continue to explore, I find traces of the world once remembered. I find brass shell casings, tarnished and corroded. I find glasses, shattered. I find more rust and rubble than grass. It is then, I see in the distance, a flicker of light. A reflection. As if an energy in me awakens, I run toward it. Barreling over shards of glass and rusty spears, I find myself standing at the base of a bridge. I can barely contain myself. I rush to the top and there stands a figure.

The figure, dressed in rags and a torn hoodie, turns to the noise I've made.

...Is it her? The silence is unbearable. It's only seconds before my knees turn to a gelatinous liquid. With one swift movement, the figure throws a duffel bag at my feet and turns away. I open the bag to find a rusted ax with the handled taped and a corroded and pitted shotgun.

It's only then, that I see the other end of the bridge. I see eyes, before I see anything else: thousands of eyes. With one movement, the figure rips the torn hoodie off and leans back as if to invite me in. She has been here the whole time, struggling to keep the world alive. I reach down and with both hands, grab my weapons and race toward her. As the wind drops to a dead still silence, I come to a sliding stop next to her.

With an earth-shattering, guttural scream that is so deep and base, the bridge shakes, we start this world spinning again.

Just a Beautiful Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 02:37:00 +0000

I open my eyes to find myself on the bed, staring at the ceiling, which only the moon softly illuminates. I wake only because something asked me to; I wake only because the night whispered to me. Not startled or alert, I am calm. But I sadly am awake.

I remember only pieces; fragments. I try to close my eyes, but only darkness surrounds me. I have fleeting memories of battles, I've never had. I have sections of my memory, faded and out-of-focus. It's a half-remembered dream. The darkness plays tricks on me. I try to focus, but nothing.

Suddenly flashes of a figure dance. A silhouette of a woman, who seems familiar, comes into focus; back lit to the point of masking her identity. I try to focus again, but the darkness consumes her. Just as her mouth begins to open, she is ripped away into the void. I become frozen-still.

I open my eyes again. "A trick", I think to myself. I stare into the ceiling as if i'm expecting her face just to form from the plaster and let me know who she is.

My breathing is slow and even with the darkness messing with my head, I remain calm. Buddha-like. This begins to worry me. The room becomes darker, as if the moon itself decided it didn't want to see what comes next. The outline of the ceiling's imperfections start to haze and eventually vanish completely.

At this point, I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed, but yet my breathing remains constant. The room is so still, I can hear the slight bass of my heart seem to march away. Further and further away, it seems; softer and softer, until only the darkness remains.

Here, in this place, I am home. I've begun my journey for her here, countless times, and yet she always eludes me. This place, with it's cracked walls, broken windows, and rubble strung about, feels like sanctuary in a world consumed by the never. I want to explain more, but we never get to stay too long. It's just not how this goes.

I step through a door, broken at the half-point; shattered like a mirror. Splinters jetting out in every direction, begging for the taste of blood. I proceed to the staircase and begin my decent. I notice at the bottom of the stairs, among all the debris, is a clean table. On-top, a note. All that is legible is: "...l miss you...".

I step outside and find myself overcome by a cold-chill. Yet never worried, i trek on. I have looked a thousand times in this dream world for her only to be disappointed, time and time again. Yet, I struggle on. I find various travelers who end up not to be her, but yet I've never given up hope.

Hope that one day, she will know who i am. Hope that, i won't just watch her slip away again. Alas, at times, this seems futile. It seems as though she was never reaching out for me, but instead running away. I replay memories inside my head, time and time again, only to understand less and less. Is this the darkness up to it's old tricks?

I have waited for a thousand years, just to hear her voice. I would wait a thousand more, just to have her hold my hand. But her memory is deep inside my mind. Carved into granite, slow to wash away. She is a figure, unlike any other. Not perfect, but neither am I. She is strength where steel is needed, and yet she understands compassion like a soft pillow.

I have found myself writing about her for over a decade. I have written about us, standing together as the world stops spinning and we are but the last two survivors, witness to the end. I've written about her fighting with me, inspiring me to stand and carry-on, long after my body yearns for rest. "Her scream, so loud and solid, it makes the mountains shiver".

She holds power that keeps the days bearable. She reminds me that, even though we may not be able to be together as we want, there's a place where we can be. There's a place where she is the shining example of what true love really is: An unforgiving mess; a whirlwind tornado of affection.

These paths are so worn and my clothes so tattered, I wonder if she would ever recognize me. I stand here in the cross street, the stop-lights dimly surrounding the area, reds and yellows. I look each direction, expecting to see some sort of sign. Some indication on where to go, but only the cool breeze of the night brushes my skin. A quick dance of lightening in the distance sparks my curiosity. I venture on.

Miles down the road, I come to a small town on a beach. I can hear the waves gently lapping on the shore, and for some reason, I hear something muffled in the distance. As I crest the hill near the sand, I see a figure kneeling by the sea. As I approach, I realize, it's her. My beautiful memory.

No words are necessary as I sit by her side. She turns to me, with the moon and stars lighting the area around us softly, and smiles. She whispers things to me, but yet my mind struggles to believe. I'm as cynical as they get and yet i'm trying to accept this. I have looked for so long, and yet here she sits. Here she tells me that I was not the only one who visits this place. She says she has looked for me but found only my footprints in the sand.

We lay back on the beach staring into the sky and exchange our war-stories for hours and even though I do most of the talking, I still feel her smiling. We talk about the good times and we avoid the bad. We tell each-other how we struggled through a world that seemed it would rather tear itself apart, than let us see each-other, even for one night. But for some unapparent reason, tonight, the world, spinning fast, let our paths cross just long enough to be honest, open, and feel what could really be.

I know, it's almost time for me to open my eyes and see the world for what it really is. I try to stare at her face, to ingrain her, into my permanent memory, but she tells me to stop. She says she's uncomfortable knowing that she would just become a face. She begins to tell me, she would rather we cherish our feelings and our time together, than to ever remember who we are on the outside. Its hard for me, but I look back at the stars.

She whispers into my ear, and as the stars become dim, the moon becomes softer, my heartbeat, slower. The waves seem to slow, almost as if the world is coming to a halt. Just before the darkness consumes us again, the last thing I hear, barely audible is: "I love you".

When the morning comes, I see a light so bright, it burns my eyes. I awaken to find myself alone, in my bed. I was only greeted by the morning whispering to me. I am calm, not startled or alert. But sadly, I am awake.

I remember only pieces; fragments. I try to concentrate, but the world refuses. I remember a moment in time. A half-remembered dream. I remember a girl, so beautiful and genuine, she sat next to me while the world stopped spinning and told me she cared.

She is the reason I fight and the reason I write. Though we finally got to share the world, one night, she will forever be the one I chase. She is the most important reason to close my eyes.

"One night thunder cracked. Mercy backed outside her windowsill.
Dreamed I was flying high above the trees over the hills."

Just Another Reason To Fight

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Sun, 20 Oct 2013 15:38:00 +0000

Just like a nightmare unfolds, I try to find a way to express my self. But at last, the girl I've been chasing becomes just a dusty shadow of hope. This bright beautiful woman, turns to be just another faded memory.

How do I find a way to apologize? How do I know where to nod my head and where the beg forgiveness? I've found myself at a crossroads at life, and as long as you've been gone, I've begged for a reason to know why you left me in the first place. But when you arrived, like some shining example of what the world could become, you weren't the one I thought you were. You have emotions like a light switch and can make me disappear from your memory with the clap of a hand. Just understand that, once the candle is out, there is no relighting it.

I held you up, like a perfect being, and yet I was the one being played. You were just a wax figure of an emotional train wreck. You couldn't handle yourself, and thought I was your savior, but even as you sit there and pretend that he's the perfect guy: he's really the perfect guy for the situation you got yourself into. I know that there's a reason for everything in life and I believe in Karma, but I think karma just bit you in the ass when you told me to disappear.

There are people you meet once in a life time and you know that there was a reason you met. There are people who you hold close to your heart and close to your mind. Those people are the ones who you keep with you, head and heart, as you slip into the rift. You take their memory with you, every time you close your eyes or just take a moment to yourself and slide away from the hard reality.

I thought I would never need to write again, since I found you, but it was a lie. You weren't the one, you were just a distraction; A beautiful distraction. I've found myself in the apocalypse, inside abandoned buildings, and hiding somewhere deep in my memories, every time I close my eyes, you were always there.

I think it's your own selfishness that caused you to be the person you are, and I think you're supposed to be on what ever path this is for you, just understand that I thought you were the one. I thought you were the perfect woman for me. I knew that there was no other that could make me drift away, and I knew it would be you and I at the end of the world. Standing there on the cliff, watching the world we knew, sink into the ground. You and I, back to back. Taking the whole world on.

I thought we were the best the world had to offer. I thought we were soldiers with conscience. I thought we were independent from all this bullshit, life made us believe. A connection was made. A deep unspoken promise. But, now I see, this promise was one-sided and as much as you scream at me to walk away, it's because you're afraid of being true to who you are. You run from the world, because you're afraid of what others might think, but it's the world itself that needs to know you exist. Back into the darkness you fall; I thought I could save you, but It wasn't up to me.

Into the darkness you fall. Into the darkness you tumble; into the darkness, I lose sight. I lost you and the second that change happened, I felt a piece of me break off and drift into the nether, like a beacon; like some sort of candle for you to show your path. But the more I caught my breath, the more I came to the realization that you chose to dive into the darkness. You chose to remain with the dead. You're not some savior, you're not a hero, you're just damned like the rest.

You were a masquerade of a beautiful thing. You exploited my feelings for your own self appreciation. You wore that mask and pretended to be the girl I've dreamed of, for so long. You couldn't find a way to jump into my life without assuming the form of some desired woman. You wanted to be loved, cared, and you wanted to be made laugh, but then you didn't want to assume the responsibility of what you have become. You couldn't wear the mask without causing it to burn your skin. The only mistake I made was trusting you, trusting the wolf behind sheep's clothing.

I know that SHE is still alive. I know that SHE is unbelievably resilient and wouldn't find a reason to install a light-switch. She would keep the light burning forever and would fill the generator with blood before giving up. She would come looking for me, if I was lost. Never giving up hope knowing I would be alive, out in the woods, falling to pieces and bleeding out. I know she would stand next to me at the end of the world. I know she would be at my back with shotgun in hand, blood streaming down her face and screaming with a fury that would shake a solid oak. I know her love for me would never keep me from taking a knee and her screams would make me fight harder. Outnumbered and with the thousands closing in, I'd reload my pistol, grab my axe, and like a fire-induced dream, we would take on the world, with a pile of bodies at my back and her to my side. This is the woman I've come to know. This is the woman I know ever single time I close my eyes. SHE is the reason I keep waking up every morning. And she is the reason I find a way to continue the hunt. I will find her and if it takes me to the end before we cross, I know she has the will to fight for me and not walk away.

My apologizes to the demons inside you. I hope they let you get out of the darkness and I hope they help you find a reason to fight.

“Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
In ruin and confusion hurled,
He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling world.”
― Joseph Addison

Echos

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Sat, 29 Dec 2012 06:02:00 +0000

Do you think that we are here? Or are we just a distant, faded memory of a life once lived? We try so hard to believe that the end is not here when in fact it might have already happened. Just a world stuck. Not constant spinning, but instead more like a broken record or a treadmill... Constantly moving but never evolving. We are already dead. Not so much like the Emily Dickinson version, but perhaps more like some sort of overlapping déjà vu.

I believe in a life that seems real, matrix at times, but almost perfect with a slight drop of bullshit. I believe we die a thousand times a day and we are seamlessly moved to a different place. A strange concept and an even harder one to accept, i'm sure. But if you stop and think about all the near death experiences you personally have come by, you start to wonder if they really were NEAR-MISSES.

Separate yourself from what you believe is reality and imagine there's a billion realities, just like this, following each-other like a mirror directly across from another mirror; now imagine if you died in one world, but instead of simply vanishing into death, you experience a close call, while seamlessly being delivered to an alternate reality where you walked away. The others in the previous world see your death and close the case and pretend the world moves at the pace it selects. They believe that there's some "mysterious man living in the sky" who can foretell each persons life and gets to pick and choose when it's their time. But what if in fact, we are all individually running on a treadmill of life. What if the déjà vu you feel is actually just a relapse of your memory. what if it really did happen to you before.

What if the world you see, the air you breathe, and the actions that happen in your life are just memory. What if we are already dead; like some terrible ending to a great television drama. What if you could realize this and never truly find a way to wake up. What if the world you see is just a signal firing in your brain. If you can sleep for eight hours a day and it seems like seconds in "real world", then what's to say that it's impossible that you could live in this world forever? What if death is only a stepping stone to a vast expanse of replays and previously recorded television commercials?

As long as man has attempted to explain life, there has always been an underlying question and thought running through everyone's mind.. "What happens when you die". Well, what if you already are. Is it too incredible to assume that death is already here? Is it too crazy to believe that each individual person you meet is actually just a memory of the people you met before; or just a figment of your subconscious trying to create someone so you won't feel so alone in the world? What if we are all truly trapped in the Truman Show? What if the world is more like a computer where you can delete and transfer files without a moments hesitation?

Some movies can inspire you to do many things, and although, some good and some bad, I don't believe that the world is coming to an end, any time soon; but what if death is just a condition? What if the bodies we batter, the bones we break, and the spirits we crush, are just an impulse from your brain? A huge majority of your brain is untapped and yet we spend our whole existence trying to discover why the world spins, instead of just trying how to get off the ride.

I don't honestly believe that this is an extraction or an inception, but i'm really starting to believe that someone left the tape on repeat and walked away. If all the movies can represent a world where the you can move in and out of your mind, what's to say that we already aren't flowing in that direction right now. What's to say that you can't find your own Vanilla Sky?

Think of a time, long ago, when you closed your eyes at night, woke up the next morning and really tried to remember a dream? What if the reason you can't really remember your dreams, is because your brain doesn't have the capability of doing two things at once? (creating this world, and pretending to imagine another). Or, what if the dream you had is actually a memory of a place you haven't been yet, and your mind doesn't want you realize life is bullshit. What if your subconscious is so attached to this place it's almost impossible to accept an alternative.

If you can believe, even for a moment, that the world you see is crooked, then there's a chance you'll understand what I'm trying to say. If you can take a step back and think of a concept, hated by billions, denied by almost everyone, then there's a possibility you will make it out alive as well. I hope the world does keep spinning and I hope i'm wrong; but in the off-chance that i'm right, I will see you all in the next world, and the next, and the next.

We are more than just reflections.

Dreams... Just Dreams...

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Thu, 13 Dec 2012 04:45:00 +0000

Why Does the wind blow? To cover the tracks where we have been so that no one will know we still exist

I woke up this morning (or at least I thought I did), to the slight memory of a dream. A dream in which we again stood together, side by side. We stared into a crowd and even out-numbered we didn't even feel the slightest bit alone. Torn clothing and sore muscles; we begin to re-ignite. It's already been a long battle, but you and I have come to know terror and never accept defeat. Each night, we claw closer and hold the line. We are unstoppable. Each Night, I close my eyes to see your face, to hear you scream, and to watch the end of the world all over again.

I continue to believe that my dreams are more than they seem. I've felt strongly about joining you there. Together we can survive forever, lapse away and wake up decades from now and start life all over; get a second shot to do the things we were never meant to do. We can always wake up (right?).

I see you there, like a demon, an angel, and something more sinister wrapped in a scratched, bruised, broken shell: begging me to keep on my feet. You are relentless, fearless and unforgiving. You are the pinnacle of that small bit of fire that builds in all of us. You are the fighter that I could never become and yet would give my life, willingly, to come close to tasting the pure destruction that makes your heart beat. I'm dying to hear you call my name.

Each dream is more realistic than the last, as if my mind is training me before my body has healed. I fear the daylight. I fear opening my eyes and losing you again. I'll search through the rubble of broken buildings in Russia; I'll find you in the darkest corners in the brightest part of the day; i'll find you in the blackest part of the night. When the stars fall from the sky and we sleep forever, I will dream of you. I will dream of you and I. I will dream that there we are, in our prime, holding off the masses; fighting for what we know of survival. Just as the song goes "when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we see; No I won't be afraid, I won't be afraid, just as long as you stand by me. "

So stand by me if the the world stops turning, stand by me when my eyes close and you're all i see. The moment i'm there scream and run to me, as if i was gone for a thousand years, because it's the way I feel when the day goes on. I feel a bit of myself is torn and left back in the end of the world, i'm thirty years or three hours from judgement day, only you know. So don't wait a moment to live (even if it's only a dream). Find me in your dreams and I will find you in mine. We will live forever.

I know that I cannot take you with me. I know that this may be the last time we cross our paths, but there's more to it than just what it seems. I'm waiting for you on the other side. It's a journey I've taken for years and can't seem to accomplish. I've ran this through you once before, and you've told me that there's something better out there for me. You keep explaining that even when the candles begin to fade and there seems to be no hope, fight on with furious anger. Believe that we can change the world and smash that inconsiderate bastard into submission.

Tonight we revolt.Tonight we prove to the world that you're only living when you're asleep. Life we thought was only in the daylight, step into the shadows and you will see what it means; Life is only the perception of our dreams and how we truly are when the lights go out and someone truly hits the reset button. Tonight, it's you and me. Tonight it's our dream and we will not falter.

Tonight. We Fight.

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 02:39:00 +0000

"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free."

-Jim Morrison

So what happens when the world spins with furious anger and the stars fall from the sky like a pack of diamonds. So beautifully bright and yet so irrationally destructive. We will be the last on this earth to see the sun rise. We will be the last on this great planet to see the world break apart and watch as they rise from the ashes and claim the world for one last step into anger and pain. One last way to disrespect the whole ideal of life.

For there will always be the one-mysterious-shadow bathed in a light much like the falling stars. I awake every night and dream. My eyes grow tiresome and my heart beats fast, as I slip away into the shadows. In this world, I call it my own; in this world, I call HER my own. But making such and assumption is not only dangerous, but presumptuous. She is just as I've described (a thousand times), just a figure irretrievable; almost like a mythical figure that can be seen yet never accepted as true fact. She is the blood-less figure that remains at bay.

If the world ends tomorrow, I would expect a little assistance from her. I would expect no less than a silent nod of attention. She would grant me a final smile before I fall away into dust. Just some sort of acknowledgement in my unquestionable and undeniable dedication toward finding her. Like the Holy Grail, or the Lost Ark, she is a question that remains to be answered and yet, a question i'm unsure I will ever really want to discover.

I have basked her in a way that needs no introduction, and yet I continue to write; I continue to dream. In my age, I grow tired of trying to please the world, and yet the world seems to reject me for the person I am, and disagrees with my search. I know the position I am in, is not what my heart urns for. I know that if she was to represent her self in my final hour of need, I would not know if standing beside her is a wise decision, or finding my own path is a fool's choice. Perhaps the only way to decide is to let the ceiling crash down and get ready to take a stand.

I know I am not the type to sit idly by, while the world falls apart like a frail puzzle. I know that I would stand at the gates of hell with a shot gun in one hand and machete gripped tightly in the other. I imagine myself covered in blood and releasing a battle roar, that will echo through the mountains, and awaken each demon and let them line up to fight. I know I would gladly have her at my side: the last remaining fight for all humanity. With her by my side, I feel a thousand times more comfortable and I lean back in my boots and prepare myself mentally for what's to come.

As the first mutated being comes scrambling at me, like a spider-on-crack, I slip one leg forward and pull my right arm back. I release my arm, like swinging for the bleachers and behold the machete sparks off the ground and there it drops; like a dead bird falling from the sky. The creature is dead. Without hesitation the world comes crashing down around me. I battle relentlessly and fear nothing. I am the crimson ember; I am the last soldier. There is no surrender and there are no reinforcements.

As I take a breath, trying not to lose focus, I take notice to her, dressed in white, slowly taking a slightly less clean hue. She is beside me with pistol in hand and ax draped over one shoulder. She is cruising from one target to another without blinking and at-times not breathing. She is calm and collect while I rampage on. She is the center to my focus. I pull my patience from her. Believe there is more than this and there will be a beam of hope at the epicenter of this tragedy.

We do not take a break, and we do not grow tired. We battle on into the night and even when all the stars have finally crashed down and the ground we stand is littered with bullets and blood, we stand proud knowing: together, we would not let the world take us town easy.

But as the sun rises on the next day, the creatures begin to dissipate, and the world begins to look a little more like home. Steaming from heat and veins sore from adrenaline, I begin to crash, knowing we survived. I take a knee and watch the sun rise. I watch the memory of her, begin to fade and soon, I will awaken to the world I've come to know and yet not understand. If her memory carries with me in my dreams and the world is bound to return to a more destructive path, then what is all this work leading to? Why can I not summon her from my dream state and bring her out of the hollow; out of the shadows.

Out of the shadows, into the daylight: She must be more than a shattered memory.

I will come for you.

Maggie.

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 05:38:00 +0000

"Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe."
-Voltaire

Think of a fireball, barreling out of control, a million miles an hour and just pretend it's on a collision course for you. A mile a way and closing, gently close your eyes and relax. Take a deep breath, but don't hold it in. Let the sky fall on top of your shoulders and let the world sneak inside your lungs. Open your eyes and see the fireball is not only out of flame, but frozen directly in front of you. Reach out and touch it and feel the death piercing inside of your fingertips. This is the first and perhaps last time you get to play god.

Determine for yourself which direction to take this from here, and you'll find a new way to venture further on past the light and deeper into yourself. You are the maker of your own destiny and yet you can't seem to get the noise out of your head. Play the super hero all you want, but at the end of the day, you find yourself clinging to the bed and slipping further in the pillow's cold sweet grasp.

Fuck the noise. You're here for a reason. You reach out with a furious intent. You punch a hole straight through the dead star and it shatters, like a plate-glass window. You find a new thing about yourself and realize that the world won't take you out that easy. Take a moment to breathe, and as you open your eyes you find a new life standing before you. You see a shadow taking form; you see a day reborn. Standing tall, you find a woman before you, reaching out and calling your name from the tornado of glass. Just a whisper at first, but then a piercing scream followed by complete silence.

You have come this far and yet the end lies behind a wall of broken glass and mutilated flesh; a pain you have never dealt, nor received. Find the reason deep inside; find the power somewhere and punch a hole through this like millions of times before. You are destined to reach her; you are supposed to be more than you seem. Tonight is the the night you light up the darkness and burn a hole through the sun.

You take two steps back, you drop your shoulder and scream so incredibly loud, you can see the glass shards vibrate. You slide your left foot sideways and let your body shift it's weight. You reach out, close your eyes, and focus on her face. Believe... When it's over you'll, see the world crumble to the ground and in the middle of the chaos will be peace, like standing in the eye of a hurricane. One final rumbling roar and you dig deep, shifting the ground itself and you displace even the air around you and tackle your way into the carnage of broken glass. You fight every sliver like each was sent specifically to destroy you. So fragile, yet deadly. You are the last remaining hero in a world lost so long ago. Dig deep find a reason to carry on and she will be there waiting for you.

The world can come to and end but not until you fight, you will never know what it all means.

And I heard as it were the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts saying, "Come and see",
And I saw and behold a white horse

There's a man going around taking names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won't be treated all the same
There will be a golden ladder reaching down
When the man comes around

The hairs on your arm will stand up
At the terror in each sip and in each sup
Will you partake of that last offered cup
Or disappear into the potter's ground?
When the man comes around

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers
One hundred million angels singing
Multitudes are marching to the big kettledrum
Voices calling, voices crying
Some are born and some are dying
It's Alpha and Omega's kingdom come

And the whirlwind is in the thorn trees
The virgins are all trimming their wicks
The whirlwind is in the thorn trees
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks
Till Armageddon, no shalam, no shalom

Then the father hen will call his chicken's home
The wise man will bow down before the throne
And at his feet they will cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around

Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still
Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still
Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still
Listen to the words long written down
When the man comes around

Tonight We Resurrect

noreply@blogger.com (Mighty) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 21:37:00 +0000

" I wish. I wish more than anything. But I can't imagine you with all your complexity, all you perfection, all your imperfection. Look at you. You are just a shade of my real wife. You're the best I can do; but I'm sorry, you are just not good enough."

For once in my life, I find myself alone in a room packed to the brim with voices echoing from wall to wall. With the fire on my back and the snow falling just outside my window. I pace back and forth from inside. I am tempted dearly by the fire burning, but yet the cold is just three steps to my left. which is wrong, or which is right? I'm not sure where this life will lead me, but i'm starting to die inside. I'm starting to think there's no escape from this place.

I lost every thing I loved most about this world when the sun came down, but the light will not phase my desire to shine far beyond the others with my craft. I've ventured much of my early life to sit and explain what the life I see consists of, but, before this came to fruition, it was stolen from my hands. The fire stole my soul but it will not capture what it means when my eyes hit the screen and my fingers begin to write. I will rebuild but although it's not the end, I will find a new way to bring life back to the ashes, like a phoenix deep inside. she will come to life, like a story that no man could ever express deeply enough.

She will be the perfection that she greatly deserves. I'm not sure that this copy is what she was, but it will be a shining example of what she means to me. If there is one that can hold me and yet empower me to fight, she is the one. Believe in nothing if not to believe in me. She, is the fighting force that my life has come to know. She will be the crowning achievement that has no greater meaning. If there is a place better than heaven it will be rolling on the floor kissing her. Being embraced in her arms as she is embraced in mine, will be like nothing ever seen. To find a new place to rest my head, to find a new life beyond these four walls, is my first proud moment. Today, we bring life back to the devil and lay to rest Revenge. That life has left me long ago, and there's no looking back now. We will bring forth a life that deserves to be praised and not examined with a burning scalpel. We will find the hero that lies in all of us, and we will take our lives to a new meaning and find a better way to express what the world around us means, and how to better help ourselves find her.

Breath deep. Open your eyes and she will come to you in time. If you write it, if you believe it, if you live it, it will come to you with open arms and never leave you stranded. She will become a force to be reckoned. She will become a striving inspiration that will help words hit paper and lead hit the sky.

There's nothing left here to rise above

We're not talking bout' that kind of love

You've got people here counting on you
Now's a good time
To learn how to pull through

Sometimes a good idea
Just isn't enough
You've got to do the work
Now get your ass up
There isn't really such a thing as bad luck
Yeah, but once I shot an arrow
In the sky and it stuck