My Love of Illusions by Fiendish-Losna, literature
Literature
My Love of Illusions
The one thing
I could not tell you,
hides high up
on the topmost floor
of this ugly, concrete
Slab.
From within
a party,
of garish reds and yellows,
screams with thoughts
that spin and twist
like cartwheels;
impenetrable
from the streets below.
My face remains a stony grey;
an empty page, no stories save,
the one which rages deep inside,
those hidden contours of my mind.
Unable to express what's there,
I linger in the world between,
the world wherein I cannot share,
my dreams of wilder things unseen.
My mind therefore, unlike my pen,
sings of a world so full with life,
of every colour, of every kind,
which breathes with a power I cannot find.
And so with every hope I'll write,
no words with which I can define,
the beauty of the place within,
that haunts me till the day I die.
The feeling quivers,
falls fast,
and shivers.
Spiralling through
a catwalk of glances,
Forged by you
until the moment passes
and disappears
like the scattered remnants
of a dream.
This room is filled with people
with portraits in the attic.
Each one of us a patron;
our faces saccharine with smiles
and skins thick with greasepaint.
Like a Christmas production,
we dance in coloured hues.
Today Ophelia, tomorrow Guinivere;
an all-pervasive dream, an all-star cast,
and one which favours Galatea.
But where Pygmalion failed
we will vanquish;
his dream realised,
will manifest itself in us.
For we are all breathing statues in the spotlight
and what lies beneath will never show.
the man in the machine by SanguineSolitude, literature
Literature
the man in the machine
My world was an airship
Upheld by superheated gas
Never let the pressure fall my son
Just that you must remember
You see the skin? The bones of steel?
They are all that holds you from reality
Balloons upon which our lives were built
And you my son must make them fly
I tell you softly that the world is flat
The sky a globe of smoke
And men might try to make it spin
But edges of oblivion control the scene
Watch the gas my sweetling
The cylinders are welling up with tears
Condensation forming on our dreams
And never let the pressure fall
I'm lying in a wooden state
This is motorized Elysium
With wrights and wrongs to pilot me
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