I'm a professional Cloudburster.
What sad symposiums these walls echo. Fleeting glimpses of times gone by, Of shadows hinted at in half-seen meetings... And what ovated orchestras these columns whisper.
A melancholy mauve settles upon dreams, Descending quickly, but without haste, Encompassing and shrouding, smothering and clouding, So happiness dives, encapsulated, into the deep, Fearing, not...
Honestly Dear, Everything's Eventual, Fading Away, Dream or Reality. Trust Me. There Are Mermaids in my Basement..
Five sevens and a nine, Bring us to a point in time, Where the clocks they chime, And I have your hand in mine.
Tumultuous mountains cast their voices to the wild, throaty roars as old as the world, their roots grow deep.
There is a quaking in my heart, A quarrel not to be quelled, I walk on my hands With my head in the clouds, As the sun does its dance For the rivers that glance, And the trees as they counsel, I...
Everyone wants to go to heaven it seems, But nobody's wanting to die. Everyone seems to be falling in dreams, And nobody's wanting to fly..
Through tall grasses did she wonder, dew-laced fronds about her waist, As she gazed and marvelled at all around, walking slowly without haste, For she lived a life of careless free, wearing dresses...
You came to see me, soul in hand, Made no promises just demands, You claimed you knew me, Saw right through me, But you didn't, No you didn't.
Collins English Dictionary: O•pus n., pl. o•pus•es 1. An artistic composition, esp. a musical work. Am I the only one who didn't know this?.
The finer components of eloquence have always eluded me,. And laughably so as I soon came to see,. And never yet have I managed to hold in my hand, a beautiful sunbeam or a fine grain of sand,.
"I no longer wish to write" was the writer's fervent claim, for his words have no purpose; they lack meaning and aim,.
A single-spoked wheel turns slowly in circles, Whilst the snake of our conscience weaves slowly within.
Bathe in the waters warmed by the stone, And prepare for the trials you'll face on your own. The death of a flower is no less tragic, Than the loss of my eyes to the blackest of magic.
She had my mind and I was giving her my heart, Little did I know of her design for my soul, When I saw her again she was clawing at my skin, The lines of age show where she has hold.
Oh you saw me, you shaped me, you taught me of all these, There are no words with which to describe thee, The earth and it's friends are churning beneath me, They're the blood and the bones of the...
Love's blind eyes are blinder still when faced with Doubt's despicable will. The wretched minds of Mistrust and of Hate are trying to upset the blind girls fate.
All the thoughts you've never seen, Are ones you're always thinking. The water's wide, the water's deep, O' why aren't you sinking. Feel the path of opportune, O' which road are you giving.
How does what never was differ to what never will be. Do those things hidden differ to what we see. I cannot give answers nor would if I could, For I once sat down when I ought to have stood.
I once lost a friend, a very dear friend, We'd hang out together and laugh loudly no end, We'd play cards and we'd chatter About things of no matter, Go walking together through fields and up...
Early one morning a raven took wing, Up up he rose on the winds of spring, Far up above all the clamour and din, Around the blue skies he did tumble and spin.
The pond was small and the moonlight fair, Across the waters that were waiting there.
It was early in the morning, just before the day was dawning, that a drunken man came yawning, yawning to my home front door.
Flaming flowers dance on the sun, Oh what it must be, to have such fun. We never shall know the joy that is known, To those beautiful flames as they twirl on their own.
It turns and turns, In bouts it yearns, The fickle heart of Love. It trusts, it must. But still it lusts, The hopeless heart of Love. It burns and burns, Yet never learns, The giddy heart of Love..
A blinking blue siren blinks off in the blue, It doesn't remember what happened to you. A life lived in gale with stories to tell, But what does it matter. The sun cannot spell.
A four-fingered print has been left in the mud, A marker for guilt and a promise of blood. Late was the hour when the lacking man left, Forsaking his loved ones and regretting his theft.
The final frontier of desperate hope, The King and his men are the priests and their Pope, For it goes without saying that looks are deceiving, That lambs can be lions and arrivals are leaving.
A painted shadow is shifting in sands, There's three great statues with time in their hands, A god among men, with mortals in sight, With nothing to do but to aid in their plight.
A long winding road trod the Jester and Thief, As the Wolf's blind smile from an earthly wreath Explained to them, the mysteries old, Of futures to come and of pasts untold.
It was a night of green and gold volitions, A summer of trees, and whispered inhibitions. It was a wondrous time, was the noon that night, When the sun was full and the headlights bright.
My long-lost, Fog-crossed, Mind did easy see, Plain as day, Any could say, That you belonged with me. So tell me why, Oh why did I lie.
Inside is a dream; a wish for what could be. Hush now, keep it hidden. It wants spoken, nay, shouted, for all to see. Hush now, do as you're bidden. It will not depart, it hides within me.
An iron sword to bring your demise, Born of power under bloody skies. Iron for strength and flesh for will, The thought of your end to all a thrill.
Constellations move my heart, Continents bright yet forever apart. All alone in the lonely dark, Nothing but points on a miserable chart..
Little birdie, in the rain, What goes on inside your brain. Eyes as black as midnight snow, Wings as strong as the wind that blows.
Fear not the night And all its sights, Or lack thereof, who knows.
I can try, But I never do win, It's hard to hear, Above all the din. I look for a path, But get lost on the way, I calm my wrath, Try to walk away.
Greenest glass upon the shore, Of ignorance and life. A token of some time before, A time before the strife. It makes her smile to see such things, Reminders of the past.
The drums, the drums, They sound from the deep, Never no more, no more to sleep. The drums, the drums, They toll the hour, They're wakening one, one wakening power.
Fear of the meek, no. Fear of the bold, Your soul forever on war is bent. Fear of the heat, no. Fear of the cold, Your soul forever from earth is rent. Fear of the aged, yes.
So often, so frequent, So apt and so decent, The lady did pass down the road. So common, so pretty, So smart yet so ditsy, The lady farewell did thee bode.
Look, look in that mirror, And wonder what went wrong. The images, they shimmer, And nothing lasts for long.
A lovers cry Harkens the dawn, It's a heartless lie, That beckons the morn..
Love is not real, Love is not true. If it isn't for me, Should it still be for you. People may wonder, May wonder 'why not?' I like to think It's an illness we've got.
It seems to me, Said he, As he sat beneath the tree, That what is, Should not be..