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The Police “Walking On The Moon (Instrumental)”
No masks
No disguises
Nothing left to hide away
May well be a dreamer
But I’m never any less than wide awake
My soul
I give
No need to take
This smile of mine
I know not how to fake
The innocence discerned
Doth widen with each blessed lesson learned
Regardless of those less concerned with furtherment of destiny than burdening suggestion of my fate
I breathlessly abate slow hands caressing me
Such devilry is bestially bequesting naming pain
Each twinge syringe of pinching hate undressing me
While pleasure they detestably negate
The dingy fringe of morbid thoughts pulled taut across my brain
Outsources from the fools reporting discourse in accordance to the mournful rule which states
Distortion of the gospel by precautionary apostles forces Pentecostal better dressed to desecrate
Each mournful prayer addressed is kept abreast the cleft of scorn and thence informed as lesser threat
As death forewarns express regret
Hereinbefore set to jest of vessels wrecked by storms bedecked remorsefully in course of weathered red
The jaundiced screams of balled fists clenched
Amorphous dreams of walled cysts bled
Drenched in dread and stench of bed pans deadpan in delivery
“To evil we deliver thee”
Their misery doth sicken me
Instead of reinforced attempts to quicken me to death’s decree
They could invest in kissing me to tell of swell the lips pursed in epiphany
The moon has no more secrets left to keep from me
I hear the bells, their chimes delight
The wind rescinds from climbing vines of idle in my primal mind
No masks
Disguises
Lines incised by that hereby defined
Climb inside this mind of mine, you’ll find that it is not quite so resigned
Lie beside me
Please oblige one time
Don’t despise me
Don’t chastise me
Don’t suppose you can divide me
Do provide me hope
Baptise with open palms which charm to verily disarm each woe known to betide me
Look deep into my eyes and you will glean they gently weep the tears of kindly
See me
Finally
For the secrets of the moon be kept inside me
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™
Written in such otherworldly beauty!
Thrilled that you used the word otherworldly, Mouse. For this was conceived from a dream of Home, which is far, far away from the earth that spins beneath our giddy feet. More will be revealed about Home over the next year or so. And of the reason I was placed here. With each piece I scribe, I am putting out a call. The lost need not feel waylaid any longer. Wonderful, otherworldly delights lie ahead for all who discern the secrets of the moon…