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The world is already dead. It has been the moment you were born. As each day blindly passes on, the more it's realized. Subtley. Perhaps quietly. In your heart you know it's true. Feel for a moment, there's an emptiness somewhere isn't there? Could that be it? If so, what then? Why not lie in the dirt and cease to be. Try making a new world. No, no. Those are answers. Answers are easy, life is not. So time for the real question. Why is the world dead? Care to answer?

What's my answer? My answer.. is that I won't answer. It's frustrating. What you see below is an echo, a flash of that frustration. Feelings, frustration, all the same. As well as my dull and numb little mind can paint it. That's all.

As I grew older, I'll realize more. I'll paint differently, or perhaps the same. Though remember, or forget. My answer is that I won't answer. I will not. Not you. Not to myself. Though, by telling you that makes a liar. Life is funny like that. Enjoy.

Sincerely,

Kyrend D'Mortrius




My recent musings....




In the darkest and most forgotten dwelling of my mind, my being, is a prison. A cage, that's contents compose of unknown promise, and ability. Kept safe from this cruel world, or perhaps my very own self.

When the wind comes crashing against my face, and angels tickle my soul with their dance is when I notice it's there. The mournful wail for rescue fills my veins with mild pepper, and slowly melting ice. Moments then come before me quickly, my movements with filled with graceful purpose. My wishes become as clear as whimsical childern dancing before mirrors. While reality becomes nothing more then a drunken and unwanted blur.

If I listen just right, I can almost hear it. The anthem of my essense echoing in my heart. A sadly beautiful tone, woven from my most tender emotions. A song thats gently burns my senses with an unidentiable resolve. Time wavers to the drumming of my captive passion, and my body is filled a weightless agility.

I feel as if I could grow wings, and soar apon the pale clouds of distant horizons. The deluded filters of my mind melt away. The suffocating loneliness of my spirit ceases it's grip on my aging lungs, breathing in fresh air as if it were my first time. At the apex of my melody, I become untouchable. Immune to my past, my pain, and my situation. Fearless against might stand in front of me. Then...

As if it was just a tease...

My ballad fades to a slow rest, the world returning to it's original hue. My experience being nothing more then a taste. A loud scream echoing in the hallowed halls of my heart. I'am left humbled, and clueless to the stir of my greatest emotions. Hidden away in me, in places I can not see, let alone fathom. In an unknown void, that I can only feel in random moments.

Laying in a Field, Thinking of You Version 2.1


I lay amongst darkness in deluded fields
away from the pestilence of mankind
life beating in my ear, my orbs staring to the sky
the cool air brushes against my skin
a soothing shiver is cast within.

An ocean of thought linger in my mind
too many, too much to remember
for a biased fate manipulates the flow
and nymphs kiss away parts of my sanity
striping clean my soul's chastity.

Fading away within my own perception
drowning in rivers of tears and blood
I pray for an angel to penerate the pain
stopping the waves of my ethereal black sky
a peaceful end to the dream, so it may die


Nostalgia

The good guys, and bad guys of your soul pass down a paralyzing calm. The pettiness of yesterday becomes the main course of the present. Where things seemed simple, accurate, and logical. Pleasant, is the dancing, and satisfying, is the outcome of the structure. Built in an the innocent wonder and glamour of small pleasures. Worn, and damaged like the way it's supposed to be, each mark an everlasting smile. A warm embrace of memories, forces the silver screen to stop playing. Just for you, and for now, that's all you need to suffer the trails of life. Which can take away your today, but can never touch your nostalgia.


Click... Sigh

Eggs crack, new death washes away as easy as new life. Each prayer and dream for something special, waiting there for me, is crushed. Shattered by the rigid clash of disappointment and phased realization. A surge of negative emotions line the sky in a slow moving cloud of restraint. Hollow is the air, empty is the soul. Numb from collapse from another future denied from today. Perhaps I'am cynical in thought, but the cold hand of harsh reassurence is real.


Broken Eyes

I'm satisfied with being broken
like a ragged and lonely twisted doll.
I'am a worn toy without hope of being loved
disregared of any potential, or status.
Mistreated by time, aged with disappointment
guided by diseased thoughts, cynical by habit
doubting reality with a keen lack in vision.

Deformed as not to fit any mold
of which I could design myself.
Destined to become yet another unused tool
expected to sit quietly amongst the others
in a whirlpool of drowning memories.
That vacuums the richness of my soul,
the only spark from the beginning
and sole memory of the past.


The Rain

Hello my soulless might,
Remind of me of my crown sorrow
let me feel the tears on my face,
as you cry for me, with me
as gentle as a new mother,
but as unforgiving as an open wound.
that's blood, pours from my mouth
and spills apon the very platform,
the very reality rotten,
with the chill of your breath.

Remind me of my ways,
seen through blue eyes,
and selfish translucent mirrors
show me slain moments,
but not of unseen love, or mirth
and merely grant me the wish,
of flying into pearl clouds
if not once, if not even an arrow's path
to something other then here,
and now.




I Know You

Hate, hate knows my name. It knows my feelings,
for it is a part of them, the soothing sublte fire
that consumes the will that I think is true. It
breathes air into my lungs, hot sinful air, that
burns my heart, but extracts the revenge of my
fantasies. It possesses power, a limited,
effective strength, madness in blacked out moments,
the bloodlust of echoing screams. It feels the
heat, the need for nurishment, the erotic joy of
blood, and battle, the song of a demon's zeal. It
knows control, it serves as a cage, a wall of
barbs, that happily rips my skin, and so peacefully
do I lay bleeding apon it.






Errant Stargazer Series

Perception
Supply

Not so Recent Scriptures

In the Darkness
Loneliness at Noon
Divine Wind
The Cat and the Calculator
The Rogue
Self Damnation
Silver Ink Clouds
A Taste of Surprise
Echo of Self Awareness
Forever Lazy
Welcome to Today
Alteration
Happy Birthdary


Poetry not by me:

For Smiles


Short Stories:

Watcher from Afar
Nokie! The Early Times
The Silent Dagger of Fate


Other Stuff:

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News:

At long last, I've crawled out of my cage for a moment to wave my magic wand at this old ghost ship. It's amazing it still floats. I've finally placed an intro to the site. I'm satisfied with it, as I should be. I had this feeling now for a long time, and I think I may of found the words for it. Those are it, what you see. They are just words to you, that's it. Take them for no more then that, or perhaps not. Though to me, it's something else. Maybe, if I look at them long enough I'll find the will,.. the meaning to start writing again. If there's anything left for me to say. If I've even really said anything to begin with. Your thoughts are encouraged. I'll ask, but will not beg for your reply. Your honest opinion would make my life more interesting. Maybe it'll make your life more interesting as well. Hell something besides junk mail would be nice. Though I've learned to live with "some" disappointments in life. Kyrend@hotmail.com, it's easy to remember, it's there before you. Thanks.

As always, I like to mention that I'm almost completely grammer retarded. I also have to a tendency, to think on things other then what I'm writing. So as I'm writing something, I tend to add/replace words that don't belong. When viewed by myself, I sometimes don't see these errors, for I still believe it's what I intended to write. I think.


Last Updated: 08/16/02



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Email: kyrend@hotmail.com