Vision Ghost

(24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

A God Like Me


Turning this way or that, down a grey street, void of people
Shaking this out of myself, a rumbling for the ranting steeple
That is the height of my apostle, a solitary preceptor of this
Seems like fate is always, and is forever, taking the unlimited piss

As there is so much for me to give, so much for them to take
An acronym of my steps seem, to be echoing my motions, to stake
A sweetness found in the bitter fruit that is, illegal and prohibited
Beating this down and screaming the defiant, protest unsolicited

But for me when the rage is born forth, a sense of attack is blood
The tremors when my own screams, agonise my ears, knees are mud
Sinking to kneel, when the next moment makes sense, only to me
There’s too much here for me to comprehend, don’t want to be free

If my blood be my oil, my machine that carries on, through all weathers
A tripping ideology that is electricity, in my limbs, for involuntary waivers
Walk into my castle, walk upon my work, ignorant of my tapestries
Feel my body moving to hate you, my urging to understand complexities

Took this much for me to realise, took this much for me to give a damn
Somehow it really matters now, when all asunder breaths away the sham
Uncover what I was meant to be, have I just discovered me here again
Forward be my steps, only in parallel, do I look back to relive solved pain

When do I feel so stupid, the thumping of reality beats, on in my ears
But stronger than some know, burden myself by carrying me, through fears
No one else to take this load from me, a self sense of pride is witnessed
Am I a self induced drug, for my veins to carry to the mind so unblessed?

An amphetamine be, my looking to see the rise of the dawn, and see love
A head held high, above the back sheep so below me now, as I am above
Ecology and the de-fragmentation to making the sense out of inspiration
In my mind is a chorus, of a translation for language, I already understand

A death will happen to me, in this lifetime, and a new seed germinates
As so many times before, so why this time, do I stage that which implements?
For me this is a voice, a tool of my comprehending, deliverance of persona
Something struggles to make sense, but kept sane by the impatience, of her

Giving me the seed for my fight, the struggle that longs, to be fought
As do I hunger for the pleasure of human kind, and the physical thought
Don’t try to stop me, when I charge this barricade, of enduring ignorance
Don’t tell me, what I am incapable of doing, as I am always that of deliverance

Submitted: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, August 18, 2010

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  • Natasha Ashwe (7/25/2006 10:22:00 AM)

    Am I a self induced drug, for my veins to carry to the mind so unblessed?
    Yes, and you're glorious. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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