I missed a run again and my conscience shouts at me in anger.

Apparently, it needed a break from the monotonous hum of hasty, disquiet fingerings for buzzer beater deadline finishes,
and a respite for smashing cushions all day.

For what is life but a series of comings and goings
The burying of bones and its exhumation
Forgetting and remembering
A regurgitation of the past, the present its mirror and
A future that is a longing for something that might be
A repetition of the summer and rainy days of youth,
But each repetition the sun blazes much brighter and hotter
And the rains bellowing and wheezing,
Its torrents ever more increasing
Like the angry hand on a dull knife
Cutting frantically onto the thawed piece of flesh
Frustrated and annoyed and tired and weary
Hinged onto the surrender into the absurd
A descend into chaos and a ladder back
To the somber and profound certainty of the eternal.

My soul now slowly breaks
Off into the cold nothingness,
The abyss glows ever powerfully
Like a phosphorescent wind,
Glowing like auroras dancing
In the winter skies of my desolation.
And yet I have found meaning
In the darkest of days.
When the clouds of death and chaos
Descends upon me like a raging storm,
Gushing, overflowing, in torrents, tormenting.
In the arms of comrades I gather my strength,
To dismantle the despair eating my lungs,
Keeping me from breathing the stardust
Raining down from the ashes of god
The unholy hour will soon be on its head!

I am not writing about the end of times,
   because the end is near
Or the mere presence of it, out there peeking,
   from the swaying curtains of of the midnight sun
A haunting aura of eternal despair,
  slowly walking towards my mortal shell
Exposing my mortal pretensions, threatening, frightening
I am not writing about the end of times,
I am writing about me as I face annihilation;
   as my soul anticipates the crash, the big bang,
the unceremonious end!

Remind me of thunders,
Of feverish longing
For the sun's wrath.
Of waves claiming
The shores of a
Perverted land.
When wrought iron gates
Still keep the monsters from
The peoples wrath.
Let the wind air music
That echoes the raucous chant

Remind me of the lightning
Striking the ivory tower.
Of fire and steel
Penetrating shallow *******,
Disturbing the stillness
With our loud footsteps
Heard deep into
Their midnight sleep.

May the uncomfortable sound
Wake them from slumber deep
May the riotous noise excite
The weary, the dead, and the meek
May our fists raised, storm the heavens
And drag it down into the streets.
May the fog that had cloaked the land
Be forever banished into the depths of history
And a new history of men be born
From the crumbling ashes of the old world.