Chasing After You....

 

Like mellow melodies melting from strings gently played from violins memories flow,

Sweet and smooth as they are they set my soul on fires for torment to die slow,

Torment is so much that the demand for David's harp is on the high,

These symphonies fade into torturous harmonies as the elected dead

Play in the orchestras and these demons from desires unsatisfied give air no chance,

Early morning through the sunrise the clouds and light merge painting

A picture perfect of the face that now is miles away, warm tears glow,

So uncertain of whether the love is still intact or its a play on stage by memories.

As the sun rays at sun set turn from golden to neon I look deep into the horizon,

The horizon you cruised into and still your shadow remains, not as dark though,

With much uncertainty I peruse our pages though the ink is a shade lighter, 

Where your face was an empty space is and a choir is raised

From the fires of hell to laugh as I slowly learn to let go, its worth dying for,

Shepherds of fire say when the heat goes down let the fire die into smoke,

And that smoke chokes my eyes into tears with a confirmed fear,

A fear stating that the year you belonged to my arms to these arms is gone

When love is mutual no more, lust appeals not and separation comes forth,

It is with great debt to faith that I doubt these hearts are still one,

I will go chasing after your heart for a place and after your head for a thought,

Not to be forgotten is my goal, letting go I have and I march on,

Only that when these eyes see you, this heart is not sure if a new 

Fire will be lit or the smoke will be too high in the sky to bring it back,

Gold isn't of much worth when in the beholder's hands. but when its away,

As true as it can be, priceless you are- I will chase after your dreams...
(c) 2014 Anduvate Ray Solomon

Caskets Of Gold...

This was a rose on top of the mortician's architecture-a grave,Portraying pure and divine beauty to hide the beast inside,
With all thorns thrashed and pruned down, the rose doesn't prick.
A masterpiece of its kind and size was a force to recognize,
In perfect hypnosis this eye caught the hype to acquire this type of rose,
It didn't dawn that each grave-rose is under a ghost for protection,
Taking this rose was an equal to hosting the hounds hovering unnoticed,
The imperfect harmonies of those in golden caskets got my feet to dancing

Into a world of pleasure this soul was ushered,
With an idea of singing for the moment to forget the coming hour,
Neglecting the truths in breathing and the heart beating are essentials for living,
Breathless moments and hearts that skipped beats were cravings of the day,
These invited beasts burst through the innocence of mind to leave it a perverted ground,
So much that this rod was led to explore hills and valleys within sight,
Throwing aside upright morals to live for the day and not tomorrow's satisfaction,
For a second, this caskets of gold tempted me to lay in

In the end there was a portrait of a tortured you and I,
A portrait painted in Michelangelo's tears, it was so clear,
An attempt to walk on burned and broken bridges, a struggle to live,
In deep regret of paying attention to the anthems of these dying days,
And letting the site of this golden casket blur the sight of my life,
I now face the ghosts that protected this rose on this grave,
Yes, i face this faceless enemy beneath this soil as I lay to waste,
After a thousand times of tempting fate, finally I rest in the city of Angels

(c) 2014 Anduvate Ray Solomon

Memories Like Vultures...

Like an earthquake these vultures violate my right to rest through the night,
They carry me into the blue of the night as thick fog rises from the ground,
A total unrest in the inside to portray confusion on the outside,
Ages had passed, it was a dawn of a new age but grace wasn't abound yet ,
As I sigh in depression, the sight of these vultures strangle my strength to fight,
The moon above testifies of the tests that I couldn't stand their taste hence my fail,
It matters no more how much towards the right direction I have trodden,
This right here is a definition of a torn and tortured heart, these vultures...

The pages my action had written tells the tales that only hell can inspire,
Each page reads a different form of destruction to fashion hearts so broken,
Every letter lets out drops of tears that stand for various pains and aches,
All punctuation proclaim the bloodshed and lives that faded in my hands,
The man in the mirror proves the man in the mirror is not as ugly as they say,
A soul darkened by death only caused by detrimental action to humanity,
Yes, my sins demand justice for my deeds, mercy weeps but not in my defense,
I will stand to be judged today, bury my head and burn my body alive

These memories dig me deep past my grave past the gates into the pits of hell,
They yell to me, death to my body isn't enough, torture to my soul is just the start,
They still call for my demise when I can die no more, vengeance does not grow fat,
Its a caress of eternal torture, swimming and drowning in the lake of fire,
Today fractures of my being can stand no more, I hold a tongue tired of explaining,
Whether you have sinned or not cast a stone to curse my breathing,
A great lesson to behold, if your tears aren't blood but more than water,
Then it is not strong enough to write the pages of your history

(c) 2014 Anduvate Ray Solomon