Beyond The Vocal

Defiled.

Attempts to build and utilize,
Bleak thoughts compelled to compromise.
A puzzle lies, undefined,
Without design, a blank riddle-
I wait within the silence of the night.
I wait to feel the air, or to smell the scent,
To see the image, or taste the flavor of a single,
Beckoning clue.
Just one piece to hold before the rest.
A single jigsaw element to pave a path.

But waiting gives birth to time,
And time uncovers nothing.

Without a core and without a center,
An urge derives from something,
An urge to build a stencil-
A frame to fit this catastrophe,
Or at least a single edge.
I move within the silence of the night.
My thoughts evolve into a stream,
Like a river through a moor,
And my efforts rise with every second,
For this will is omnipotent.

Failure.

Without a core and without a center,
Without a border, without a frame,
My loss of ideas redeems itself.
I cannot analyze and I cannot align,
"Perhaps I may still contain."

So with this might,
I forge a box- like steel, I know its strength,
Four sides and one solid cover,
A prison for the demons.
I place the box upon the imps,
And I beg reality for serenity.
Life gave me serenity.

Failure.

The fire of the imps' hatred,
And the heat of the demon's force,
Destroyed the case I slaved to create,
And scurried in circles again.

Without a core and without a center,
Without a border, without a frame,
Without a prison to contain,
My mind was shattered.

How could one put into words,
A cataclysm as potent as this?
With no base to begin from,
No path to walk along,
And no frame to display analogies?
I asked myself without patience,
"How can I speak in confidence,
When my words alone are weapons?"
And through a dozen sinking seconds,
I fell upon the soft.

Circles cannot be mapped out,
As they have no puzzle pieces,
Like that of a square or triangle.
Circles are infinite.
Circles cannot be framed, as they are rounded,
Like sawblades destructing ease.
Circles cannot be contained,
For once they are completely known,
There is nothing left to contain,
But the remnants of forgotten knowledge.

Failure.

I sank back into the dark,
And gave up hope on the vocal.
And into my hands I placed a tool,
The only tool to bind the circles.

My hands became creators,
And my mind became relaxed,
And upon the thin vibrations,
My fingers told the past.
She may not understand the words,
And She may not taste the sorrow,
But I knew that She could hear me then,
I knew that She could feel...

Melody.

In a race beyond the vocal,
My melodies ran the line,
Like a dream crestfallen inside the mind,
The melodies bleed out,
And soak the hands below.
Once the notes combat the air,
Then the puzzle fades away,
The demons die and wither,
The night begins to soothe,
And circles exist no more.

I knew that She could hear me then.
I knew that She could understand.

And once all thoughts were hollowed,
And every note was heard,
I crept beneath the covers,
And blinded my eyes-
I hid from the stubborn light beams,
That stabbed through the door.

I didn't know that it was my final night,
I was unaware of the hand of Death,
But he was hidden beside my bed,
Scythe and dirk,
Dripping shadows to the floor.
Had I felt the pain of the blade,
I still wouldn't have cared,
For the melodies have told my story,
To the one that deserves to hear it,

And I knew that She could hear me then...
I knew that She could feel.

Death.