sharrackor

As the last lonely candle stood burning, burning Throwing my dark shadow from my darker self, As tears of wax were churning, burning Down to the frost-ridden wood carvings crying, and crying down the shelf, Since the sun's warmth was retreating, hidden Succumbing to the enigmatic fiery tear - and crying wax across the creaking floor; 'Tis not important, Not anymore. Shadows hath danced across the walls of finite mirth Which ripened from the winter-shunning candle of nuclear warmth, Fingers of immoral immortality pointed, pointing at my body Which rotted with songs of silence arrogantly permeated from mockery of my failing warmth, As shadows

When I write, I Feel. Many who see the convenient pen or the Mighty quill Look elsewhere. Their bland, endless expanse of a Mundane canvas of nature and man's flawed marriage Soaks up the unappreciated ink fountain into its boring stupidness. Just another piece of the Unsolvable puzzle. When you read this page, What do your Eyes see? I see nothing. I feel everything. The quill does not smash, but Pierces the canvas window. All too strong are seduced into its Void by the Tugging ropes of nature's curiosity. Beyond the canvas, there is but Void. Beyond Void, the is but everything. No eyes are in the Void, so we shall not see. No ears are

          Back at the beginning, in the first morn' of the world, many a creature roamed the land; some big, frightening beasts, and some small, unseen peacekeepers (for peace would keep them in one piece). There was then one creature, one whom no-one could quite understand, who just slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant, unsettling the unseen peacekeepers (for peace would keep the in one piece), and never mumbled a word. Once, the spontaneous squirrel, with a smile full to bursting, scuttled and squirreled down the treetops and right up to the slitherer's pointy nose and asked him "Come and play with us in the treetops, Mr. Slith

Silence. Silence pierces the endless Noise, Overpowering it with the Deafening sound of Nothing. My eyes close, yet my Eyes open. I awake while I sleep. I sleep while I watch. My watch tells me there is no time. No time to waste. My feet scamper across the Ground-that-is-not-there, as I walk. Run. Running! Run to live, Live to die! I must not die! Time runs out. Chase it! Chase it past the Doors, Trees, Grass, Hills, Sun! Into the Sun! Into the Menacing eye that Rips helpless nature Out from its earthly shelter and Into relentless wind! I am as fast as the wind. The wind is too slow! Must run faster! Leap into the Horizon, Past t

For out of Void's yawning Cracks, From the nothingness of nothing, A weird Crown-thing sits upon a throne-that-is-not-there. Yet. For after Void's seams yawn Nothing into Something, the Crown-thing's Bliss rests upon a Head-that-is-now-there, Stealing away our seconds through our Blinks in awe. Blinks given to Him. Blinks given to Zieroth. And so He charged through Void's breaking Yawn-cracks, Tired and Scared of Void's Democratic bliss, Small and insignificant enough to Squeeze through the Invisibly small seams. Zieroth then gazed at the boundless Beyond-the-Void, Turning his Selfishness to what Chaos he saw, Watching. "

The soul awaits. Patiently, it sways in the breeze of life, Tugged along by Curiosity, yet rooted by Destiny and Time. Its roots stay strong. But the fruit sweats with Fear. Harvest has Come. A fanged ray of Light danced off of the Scythe, Bathed in seductive puddles of Blood. The soul Falls. Falls below the Roots, falls to Hell's maw. The scythe does not stop for the Puny soul's grief, Unceremoniously felling a Forest of Purity, Intoxicated with Blood. "More! More!" The scythe screams to her Reluctant bearer. The silent farmer Trembles with grief. He would fight the Gleaming fang, but she has Laid waste to

Running. Running Quickly. Quickly! Through the trees! Past the birds And spiders And owls With glistening claws! Every Eye Is Watching! RUN! Too late. Nightmare has seen you. Nightmare watches you. Damn Him. Footsteps! Turn around! Nothing. Just A Branch. "Heeellloooo..." Who was that?! Just your imagination... "I seeee youuuu..." FEAR. MUST. MOVE. NOW. Feet scurry Across a sea of Thorny bushes, Scraping, Bleeding, Hurting, Running! Must keep running! Trees fly by, Raking the stars with Knifelike branches. Any one of them could kill you! They're watching your Every Move! Must run! From Nightmar

Many will look at the Old man in the older rocking chair, Ponder for a second, Wonder how such grand patience, Such grand wisdom Is mastered. They ask this for one reason. They have not seen Old. Old's ancient, heavy skin Coated with cobwebs of Time, Sits still. Skin so rough that Existence itself is Slowed as it rubs by, Like the mindless cat against its More mindless master. An ancient countenance, One with wrinkles that Hide in them Countless stories of old, Twitches not. Eyes, eyes that Saw before sight itself, Which spiral with the Endlessness of creation, Focus. Focus not on what is, But what was and what Wi

We wait silently. Many planets rise, Many more fall. Many lives grow, Flourish, Enjoy, Cherish, Love, Lose. Die. We wait silently, as we Rest above this. Many seconds, Minutes, Hours, Eons pass. But we wait. We wait for it. It waits for us. Slowly, it peeks out its Agelessness out from a Cloak of shy, nervous Void. The void is now lost. Lost looking for It. It stretches out in an Infinite expansion of Endless force and Magnitude. Fiery rage Lashes out with its Restrained whips, succumbing only to the Seductive glare of It. It glares above all. A glare of infinite Light and beauty so mighty, One which belon

What are you doing? Reading. How do I know? Because I know. What are you thinking? I know what you are thinking. Don't think about elephants. Why are you doing it? I told you not to. Stop breathing manually. I mean it. If you can't ignore your tounge in your mouth, then leave. You failed all three tests. I do not think. I merely know. The endless multitude of knowing is me. Do you know what I am? Do you know why? You know neither. I chose not to let you. Who are you? You are the object. I am the subject. "The cat played with the yarn." You are the yarn. I am the cat. And I am playing with you. You now can answer the previ