MYST WALKER


The thick gray night clouds dissolve into the never ending memories of frightened children, the wielder of justice mighty sword he turns east, he strides for the newborn sun. His thunderous footsteps stamping out injustice, he is the MYST WALKER! And this is his tale.


Oh these steps climbing through mist and cloud so thick, no man stands in his own shadow. Words called out so simple, deafening. A horse, a horse my kingdom for a horse. A man sits alone pondering his own creation, can there be no end? Is truly there a why for every fathomable answer? In the mirror I stare and no reflection can reveal these untamed thoughts. Speaking loudly my words go unanswered into the endless abyss. This is my question, am I to be born only to die? Is life this meaningless? Can man ever understand his own creation? Should he?... In the garden stands a man pure in thought. Truly this child of god is doomed to carry the weight of those who would see him kneel and pay homage for sin he would not commit. So little time so little beer, cutting through the mist I find there are no answers to my questions, I just keep learning when does this end? I ask myself who cares?...

What if dogs could laugh? Would they find mans general exploits humorous? Please remove your thumb from my soup, quickly he fired up his engine and sped off into the mist, the tires spitting gravel and dust, he soon was a memory. Only his last words rang out over roaring engine. My god grandma what big teeth you have! And with this the mist enveloped his steel chariot and he was no more.

These truths we hold to be self-evident, what self-righteous pig would cast such words? No need to wonder, I give to you a second coming. From out of the mist his chariot flew screaming to an abrupt halt, his window peddled into the door. He took a deep breath and then exclaimed, the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. With this, insanity filled the air. “ I ride the plains alone my heart in agony I shed no tears, like a sparrow my diversity can not be understood, Speech!Speech! they screamed, “I give you a poem”.
I am beaten but will not die,
I raise my hand to wipe the tears from my eye.
There is no learning in these words,
My heart grows cold my mind disturbed.
All your attention is now focused on the deciphering of words in rhyme. Give to me your heart, give to me your deepest darkest secret. Slowly the pink elephants surrounded the sparrow, from their trunks they trumpeted their battle cry. Surely in life we loose our sanity thinking of our own impending death. Hand me another beer my mouth is dry.

You no not the pondering of mad men in brass. I give to you the third speech from the mist. Take to heart this sorrow, splitting flesh and exposing bone, the blood falls to the ground warm from this innocent boy his eyes well with unknown emotion. In darkness he finds reason, she spreads her wings of black chaos, by her side unsheathed rests her sword stained in virgin blood. Her voice rings with self-righteous hypocrisy every word more soothing than the last. No longer can I walk erect, my back bone has been snatched from my body, oh this , ugly man so loved in his place, alone he sits amongst those who would call him friend. May the sparrow fly from those beasts in pink for their trumpets are no more ,the fire has come and gone and freedom is pure and rich like the blood of the innocent.


Levity please, surly I have bombarded your young thoughts long enough with the misery of one lost soul. Well to understand is to learn, and learning is what makes man in his destruction of his own environment and mindless killing of each other the most vile beast of all, to my knees I drop, in your image I grow more wicked with each passing moment. Once again his engine sang with the power, and like before only his voice could be heard over the mechanized beast. In my shadow can I stand, his image is mine and mine his. The spawning of purity can only be equally pure, man can only be as good or as wicked as his creator?. “Live long and prosper”.

The mountain may fall, the earth will break and the wind still cries like a tortured banshee doomed to haunt the mores. But always there is the mist, and walk amongst it I shall for no man knows the quiet dank clouds of the mind like I.

As if propelled by some huge cannon the chariot screamed into view, and he is so brilliant emerged from within. May you now know pain and anguish, and with this the flames of hell in his control touched their spirits. Minds hot with thought they clinched to life like leaches to their host, drawing forth life's blood their eyes glowed red as if plucked from hells own furnace. Smoke stacked dragons and bitches with pitch forks stalked their dreams crippling ambitions and smashing desire.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.09.2010

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