oldworld

One of my old poems from when i was 17, the first in a series of 3:

Rendered in Blood
Lifeless and cold
Rise from the ashes
seek out the old

as the skies cry out
to the
L O S T

standing in the remnants of
the world we left behind

we philosophize
war and peace
and watch

I see
as the earth dies

Promises are spoken
Promises are broken

We ride
Journeymen
the Travelers

Old World
Reminiscent memory
the knowledge gained
from living Pain

The love we had
The love we lost
The love we left behind
The memry of that struggle
Will be with us for all time


Neverending glory
Neverending Lie
Love that made me someone
Love that made me die

The force that kept us going
was the force that took us down
That searing pain; its a dying game
Its the Love Ive never found.

Looking across a smoke filled existence
staring at one who sits alone
watching the others in their ignorance
their passion and lust
brought on of chemical and social
intoxication
You want to think this one is like you
one of the few left
but as the night goes on you begin to wonder
Is it that age-old sense to find the Lost?
Or do you just want them to be like you

you are alone in this midst
and it tears at your soul like the claws
of some unseen demon
who laughs as your mind twists inside

You are wrong
the Dark One whispers
They are not the Lost

and it has been so long since you spoke with
the Old
that your senses betray you
and once again you do not know your place

and lost in your thoughts, drowning in curiosity
and a torment of old senses brought on by simple meetings
you find yourself walking alone
down deserted streets
through a night that mocks you like a dark jester


dont want to live
dont want to die
dont want to love
dont want to hurt
dont want to feel
dont want to believe
this world is real

the night grows long
the music of merry people invades your being
but the solace that was there for so long
has already been shattered
and the Sky falls about you
like shards of broken glass;
Remains of a shattered soul.

We told ourselves a thousand times
that all would be okay
but after all the pain and lies
theres nothing left for us to say.

the world is still moving
revolving on its axis
the people never stop and look at themselves
they never see who they become
they only submit and fall
slowly into a predetermined existence
that feeds slowly upon their souls
as they smile and shake hands
and live a better life.

standing on the outside of this cycle
we realize that there are too few of us left
to even relate to one another
for we are separated with the rest
and the days move on
without sympathy for the dying.

there are so few left
and our eyes and hearts deceive us
our vision is clouded by hope
a light that flickers in an otherwise blackened room
and leaves a burnt image in your mind that lingers
and clouds your judgment.

People live
people die
but people never change.

left with nothing left to give
theres nothing more for which to live.

This is a riddle for the Lost
for those who have forgotten
the cryptic writings of the Old

This is a verse
for those who would know the ways
those who live outside

This is a song
for a dying race
the last embers of a forgotten fire

This is a thought
for those sifting through the ashes
of a world left behind

We are all dying
the world forgets us
we forget who we are

The dreamers are awakening
They are forgetting the last moments of their dreams
Those places where reality and the mind meet for mere seconds

To those who have forgotten
To those who would listen
To those who would believe
To the brave
the dying
To the Lost

When you find again that place in your hearts

We will be waiting there for you.