Gone Down

The sun has gone down in the west:
It's the night after day
And the end of a test.
I'd never have guessed that it would end this way
But a change is as good as a rest, so they say.

Though through your eyes you gift to me
Answers which I did not seek,
There's still one question I must ask:
Why do you wear the mirror-mask?

Dark Soul

“Call me Legion, for we are many” Mark 5.9, The Bible

In this vast desert called the soul
There is no Christ, no God, no Goal -
But all the demons of the dark unknown
Storm madly round this secret home.

A comet passes through the skies,
The trail’s reflected in your eyes;
Innocence in the aftermath
Is all that will survive our final act.

My yo-yo heart which pumps hot blood
Can only feel what’s understood;
What should we do? Who really cares?
Go count your bloody money in your stinking lairs.

Honesty is a sacrifice of joy,
Maturity is strangled without self-deception -
Anyone would think that a sensible boy
Would have realized this from the moment of conception.

The dice of evolution prove that someone's got to lose,
The cards are on the table yet we act like we can choose;
This spectacle, this horror-show, is more than I can take -
A nightmare of obscene design from which I can’t awake.

Human debris frame our lives as the garden turns to weeds,
Props and crutches hold us up to do our daily deeds;
But when razors slice your soul it is probably safe to say:
Things would have been like this any other way.

Can abyss be the name for this struggling state of mind?
Is super-sight the gift it brings or being super-blind?
Like Narcissus, trapped by his image in a pool,
I can't function without polishing my precious inner jewel.

Shun my masquerading if it’s too far out to wear -
Nothing really matters, nothing is ever fair:
There is no mask on Earth
which you can hide behind
to stop the dark sun rising
on the ocean of your mind.

The Longing

Long time ago you found a key
Which opened up my hidden door,
But though you broke the spell on me
You never come back any more,
And all that's left are photographs
Forgotten in some dusty drawer.

Long years have seen my tortured gaze
Steam like hot blood on your bright snow,
But though I've lost you in this maze
Still see your face in my window,
And long to play that secret game
Of lifting masks with you again.