Fields of green lay beneath my feet,
Behind me rings Civitate Vox,
Before me sits moldering Nox,
As the voice of Nil calls to meet.
The shroud passes as in a dream,
Shades carrying its murky cloth,
Repenting for their sin of Sloth,
Forever sewing up the seam.
Then passed by the god, Terminus,
Who froze enemies as he gazed,
But now upon him was emblazed,
That "Oblivio est natus."
Hush! Sullen silence overcame,
The crevasses around this world.
A lonely shadow came unfurled,
And birthed a Being with no name.
This Being bore no human mark,
Save for the grin upon its face,
As darkness flowed between each space,
Of triangular teeth of shark.
It stalked around my person here,
Its stride as long as three of men,
Three times around this deathly glen,
Its aura seeping unmasked fear.
At last it stopped and looked to me,
Silence growing ever closer,
Causing panic to come over,
Despite it had no eyes to see.
The panic then came from my slit,
In the shape of a primal yell,
And from that hollow, hell-bent shell,
"Silentium!" commanded it.
And so my voice was cleanly cut,
Cords of my throat now snapped in two,
Blood now coated my teeth like dew,
And finally my mouth was shut,
As flesh fused my lips together.
No horrid sound could I utter,
In stoic prose or rambled stutter.
Silent I will be forever.
The Being's face was newly formed,
From that devilish grin of its,
A visage now perceived befits.
My maw was on its face, deformed.
Again three times it strode around,
As my blood poured out of its jaw.
The crimson river from that maw,
Beneath its feet did dye the ground.
It beckoned to a forest near,
The dusk-lit glen in which we stood.
I followed it as fast I could,
As between the trees it did veer.
Nearing a cliffside, it brought me,
To the rocky-edged precipice,
Underneath which began its lease,
Of beautiful infinity.
"Behold the splendor," rang our voice,
As it reached out to the vision,
But at the edge was a fission,
Between reality and choice.
My eyes feasted on the beauty,
In the instant he gouged them out,
As "Caecus!" I heard it shout.
Only crimson shadows I see.
Then forward I went, down and down,
The blackness of the cliff around,
As I neared closer to the ground,
But in Acheron did I drown.
Woefulness overcame my soul,
But not a drop did I dare sip,
Until I felt the Being's grip,
Which saved me, but it takes its toll.
I coughed upon the ashen soil,
Which now filled my tortured breathing,
And with sight no more deceiving,
I heard demons' infernal toil.
Now one Eidolon did I see,
Amidst the never-ending night.
The Being strode into my sight,
Holding my eyes with dreadful glee.
He raised them up into the sky,
And into his face pressed them both.
"At last I see!" the Being quoth,
And uncovered his only eye.
A final thrice he strode around,
As I turned to maintain his stare,
And with horror realized that there,
Was no soul in it to be found.
Its heartless gaze bore to my core,
Now as it stopped, it told me this,
"Now Oblivio est omnis!"
And so it was forevermore.

sailing down
a sunless sea
downward to
infinity
no stars above
to give me hope
or guide me to
an island shore
with every change of course i make
my destin--y
remai-ns unchang---ed

no escape
from this wilderness
no running from this
empti-ne---ss

...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh

ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa--r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...

...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh

so i turn my ship
into the wind
and fa-ce the tru-th
that i have seen
softly singing
she calls my name
with open arms
i release my pain
and as the sea closes over me
my hea-rt at last finds
ser-en-it---y

... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best frie-nd

ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa-r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long ti-me
just take my hand
and you will find...

... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best fri-end

so i turn my ship
into the wind
embrace the heart of
obli-vi---on...

"hello friend"
she welcomes me within...

so ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
far
so far bey-ond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...

obli-vi-o---n
obli-vi--o---on
obli-vi-o--n

" i'll be your bro-ken hea-rt's
be-st frien--d... "

.
Pic Poem
http://oi57.tinypic.com/10qb7tz.jpg
.

I cursed His name in vain
As my cousins had in the past
Exalting a new formation
Based upon the new caste
Our dividends made us dry
Allowing floodgates to open
The ephemeral pleasure of power
Giving us an unjustifiable position
As heads were laid in order
Our serpents knew their place
Beneath the Head Dominion
Shooting out more sons
In walls of Green Umber
A regal hypocrisy
Not to be admired
Nor taken for granted
Just for blue profit
In just, for the reason
The Lord told us to do it, upon thee
Leading us to oblivious matrimony
Sights and sounds drowned all out
As we made our double fantasy escape
Forever feeling the post-effects
Of our timely duality
In perpetuum
Donec oblivio

the silence, has already been written upon stone,
just like my first girlfriend,
with a mix tape i made her, when
the times of the suitor's guess was made:
just like that,
when a boy could make a her
a taste of music she might listen to,
stumbling to work,
upon an apocalyptic sight of
oxford st. at 5a.m., listening to
king crimson's song epitaph -
torn and in toils years later -
the sinking maggot throng of expectancies
and jealous riling -
    culminating the jealous curse:
**** the golden horde of expectations
of future swedes!
               i sleep better alone,
with a cat it's once annoying,
with a woman, the numbing of
a side of my body, and that ****,
hurts...
           i was trying to be welcoming
by instructing the lesser known
20th century invitations,
but, it would seems,
i was less the more welcome seen...
so thus the big bang becomes
the grandiose implosion of
thought-orientation that begins with
a (0, 0) pointer -
the denial of both the existence of
god, or the existence of,
     and humming are we:
to craft the perfected personality typo;
but i remember the girl,
with my mix-tape and her job,
and the apocalyptic empty street
of oxford st....
don't mind me, i started listening
to king crimson aged 10 or 11...
   so i don't know where the jerking-off
prince came from,
that birmingham shitehole of
"diacritical" effort...
my blood isn't circulating proper:
it's boiling and has horseradish added
to the tongue, and it's riddling,
riddling, ready to make the pounce
of stashing an idiot's head in
its ******* sack!
i remember sharing a bed with a woman,
as much as i remember the numbed
either right or left side of my entire body...
i hated it! just like i hated
these cosmopolitan magazine questionnaires
that even the russian teen girls are
lucky to insist on taking part in...
sleeping with a maine **** cat
is hard enough, but sleeping with a woman,
and that numb side of your body,
can we be critical in the victorian sense
of having separate beds?
   i like less cuddling,
you have teddy ten-shoe cushion,
and allow me my other half
of the body to prevent me spooning
my body against yours,
while pretending to fall asleep...
  **** the niqab *******,
can i please, just have my own bed?!
oh yeah, i really care if you turn
it into a ninja affair...
    watch me smoke a shisha,
and eat some baklava or some falafel...
i'll become the 8th wonder of
the world in bed,
and beside the bed, you'll be tourists
beside the eiffel tower watching me
smoke a shisha, eat some baklava
and then some falafel...
or some other way round...
i didn't mind the relationship,
her being a gamer, me being a bookworm,
i didn't even mind
*** on her period, given the ******...
but sleeping together?
that was, ****** well-guessed annoying,
every single night,
cuddling into a tortilla (me)
and the filling (her) -
and the whole of my body feeding
a sensation of: numb...
         now i drink:
   so i have the perfect mosquito
deterrent...
              i'm almost sorry making this sort
of comparison, given that i remember
making high fidelity cliches of
mix tapes... alternatively in c.d. format...
i can just picture it though:
   king crimson's epitaph at 5a.m. on
oxford st., with no one there,
apart from the girl, and her pair of earphones...
i sometimes do wish it could have been,
how she tested me on her
paternal compass while sitting me
into a theme park ride with her...
now i loose the plot:
   i think she said her grandmother was
her mother, and her mother was her
sister, and her sister was her...
i can't keep up, even after 11 years...
it's like finding a canary in a coalmine -
i'm as aob clued in, as any idiot
past my experience...
      oh i made the "bride" years later,
arms slit, apparently eager on suicide,
and then this random guy turns to me
and say: oh, she's a great ****...
looks like there's a: lucky me after all...
i pity the poor ******* that married her...
that time i visited her she turned
into a pixie, which i loved,
i.e. a girl with short hair... pixies,
you know, those girls that can really
take to making short hair work...
   i might actually have a son,
but i don't know...
         it's a big might have queue the ? is on,
it's hardly a slap in the face ! expression either...
  and yes, the poem i never written,
but keeps repeating itself, over & over again:
to replace the ego, take to narcissus:
  ? walks into a bathroom and stares into
a mirror, and all ? sees is either !
or !? -
       just the right amount of description
worth of a chinese fortune cookie;
by now it really doesn't matter,
  whether or not i was allowed a chance,
or whether i had a chance,
    or whether i had the gamble: but no chance...
time does indeed heal all wounds:
   it allows the prime wound healing
object to materialise:
   all wounds heal, once the grave is
crafted and left intact;
all scorn and begging left intact,
   is obliged to be sacrificed,
upon the healing stone of a dead man's
grove of epitaph's worth of letters,
encouraged into stone, rather than
flimsy paper -
                   that the undesecrated grave
is by far the only epitaph,
   and that the desecrated grave
being the loss of:
                  a combative "last" farewell...
hell be memory -
               heaven: an amnesia.

post scriptum:

         infernum sum memoriam -
   paradiso: oblivio est.

Therefore, that is Best of all, how long and scary,
the voice of / and it is in the power of profit, but now,
for this is on average, moderate and severe health,
or so much as move, for example, in the group,
just as they are united in the midst of the Chinese
people. Four three different times, three different
grammar poets record main leaders of the two factories
(such as 100, 500, E, and F) and one or more items.
Elect such as images, music, and various goods from
the three light changes of colors, black, white, white,
special weight and the strength of beauty through
the skin tone and skin damage. Properties (satire luvnellis)
mixed with steam toys separated. Reprocessing has
the effect of radon (our hypothesis). Six minutes
of full ink powder Google - Jan Cicero Such Supply,
Melbourne David Casey, the Philippines, David Camp
David, the music is the first child in the Philippines
and Bird umas manufacturing grow into neighboring
countries such as Filipino: 2: 26: Philip Berger's old
literary philosophy. "Palestine master of color," for
infants and children, Google Boston 1 Google, Asia
and North America, and Venice Finland 2 Philadelphia
International Amnesty 26 (2) Google celebrated the
Palestinians, and holidays in the first two years, medical
schools and Phillips the philosophical world wide,
wide world, Circozio, Sunny world, in mountains
and in those days, p2, Google Book 1 - Carlos -
Button-summer, Laura's wedding security programmers
do want to enjoy it? 1) Google's reputation " allows
children and grandchildren, and the children to develop
a program in the 1 Antedeluvian five days, and it is important
to restore the circle. January 2, I dread to Google 2:26:
Philip Berger was born in San Francisco, Melbourne
children, the David Phillip Cicero, Cambridge and rock music.
Philly, Google, Yahoo, Google's Verblesh has been assured
that Google and the two Asian Growers of North America,
the amnesty ternational, Philadelphia 26 (2) physician
and poet Phillips mentions World War 2: South African
ultrasound scanner, used children and newborn scanner;
A boy, a young man's name and age of the child, the child's
cherry Angel school, students and young people, preschool,
child, daughter, heir, boy, kidney, total, gender, youth,
baby boy carrot, the enriched with fruit, the mountain of the Taurus;
when the child was a boy: a boy, a bear, the son of the heir
of the number of generations; there is no matter; But the better
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and heavy with a feeling of sound and healthy condition,
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factories in the great poet, and the other two grammar
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or two main standards drink is important. Use your opportunity
to choose the variety and diversity of the three varieties of songs
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the strength of the skin, loss of skin tone, and the beauty
of that light of a white light to the darkness of the color
of a special near and far away. Properties (satire luvnalis) mixture
should be separated from the rubber button. Reprocessing
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powder, Google - TV inspires young Jan Talys is part of Melbourne,
Camp David and David Philippine rock music. I was just in
the Philippines, and neighboring countries, as Esmé Marshall
at 20, one of the world’s top models. Beginning in 1978,
she graced 15 fashion magazine covers in her first 12 months
before the camer and Bird Philli grow in Philly: 2: 26: Phillip
Burger's literary philosophy was born. "Palestine master of color,"
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of the festival, Google P2 book - Iron - Magnet-Glory changes,
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in San Francisco, Melbourne children, part of David David David
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America, Amnesty International, Philadelphia 26 (2) and two Asian children, World 2 war; South Africa, 1000

a noseless breather, skeletally pug--

(pura oblivio)

smells the cooler end of air like rubbing

alcohol.

as a moldered dog would thru a dingy

screen, watching a raven that dances

in a series of flops.

the mock-break of wings in a caw of

exilement, as the secret passageways of

leaves fly open.