Ghost Yards and Bad Barbs

A short story called....

At tributes: visioñ zero: What Time Permits: ghost yards and bad barbs

How the hell am I supposed to juxtapose
Again, the image of

The frozen that crept till befallen upon the ground 
infilled land with alarms silent,
The nightmare appeared:

Pounds around my idle feet in March to a place of hope
My bleeding arms 

Storming with pellets 
My heart's the supplier
Autonomous drain

A machine gun 
Death watches
Heart the trigger 
Eyelids the shadow
Of the creator's fire

which hides within

Signal a demeanor of a passionate clown 

While I try to rise like embers now 
To somewhere different
Like a dulling flame rises through the night of no moon

Subtly but surely

Mythological lies befuddle my head and shadows and light are weighed in the process of my journey

Their duties
Logic,
And what the truth should be change incessantly

Seeds grow of all flowery
Genre, a mess or a blessing depending on factors which change like weather,                     all that grows is beautiful 

Or pestimistic 
Good vs terrible verdicts 

New foundations 
Upon the grounds of somethings so sacred

Sometimes you don't know to believe

That you own the road you traverse 
That lead to a gradual procession of 
Plighting bombshells,
The dumb of ignorance
Traversion contrasted by wisdom

Becoming sleep like 
Or wide awake?!

The Quest,

so numbing, sometimes

to somewhere
When all you wanted was somethings 
To change, to pocket, to change

 Till changed again,

to hundreds of grandiose discoveries seen but in beheld 

Card so blank
Match the thinker’s tank

Context is delivered here 
So the skips fall blue

Match this
Wander’s soul                 fluctuating glow

A slow flowing float of gloating 
Which is colored by the day I color over 

Unclouded 
My days will be
Laced with the haze of a creative page 
That only I can behold
 Seeming till either
Being or being not inferior to the words
As I fathomed them into reality 
Fathomed from fantasy

And take me far away from those dreadful pit stops of life

P2

My friends apparition's are in detention 
Detained in a cave of a backwards road setting 

I'm in need of light to ward the dark away
That wards off Demonia 

Whom drag or pull the back of you to somewhere upsetting 
Whom carry the spirituality

of the memories that they share enfused with guile,
No one cared for,
Those spoilers of entire sceneries and stories in writing 

I am not evil or good 
I oversee
And cast judgement 
Similar to all who shine

But in-difference 
I reflect

Discovering all light the cast upon me 
As well as the absence of light
 which I witness too much

Is remembered 

In reflective 

Retrospective 
Erected from
The metaphorical metaphysical

Particles idolized and empty like the vessels in admiration to the material instead of the souls
And seemed to be the same 
Driven by self always?

All surrounding an appetizing
Drifting air intellectual

And a character with chatter of wind that the spirit thought to be weilded by the sharp tooth entity freezing by winters solstice

Exist

The same way the sun performs

But sometimes it's the collective field of minds which permits and vice versa not,

Which imprisoned you from a reality
That isn't like one behind iron bars

That the stars like to shine behind and wake, form

P3

Wonder now
Did the stars burst 
Simply to rehearse hell
What a scramble of confusion 
We now live in then
That being the case

I chase dreams of better
With true friends 
With the coolest push and pull agendas 
You ever sought after 
Of space and matters 
And ponders 
Dilemmas like one on a heaven sent craze 
To change ways and adages 
Diplomatically 
Democratic by epitome

In this world cause and affection germinates dangerously 
Called innocent, the devilish, is ,
at times
Unplanned and bastardizing

As unlived vessels depress as preconceived notions of the notion of capitalising 
Destinies 
In a bad movie.

Like a life on a track that's about taking two steps forward        Then a pitfall to rewind

inclination of fates in steady contrast with fates

Of all dates

Backwards to the starry care
Of the Earth's dusk hidden
Agendic heaven and hell shelled by dust 

That mysterialized the lusty
Heartbeat of the dirty soul 
Taking you to the beginning of trying 

Novice now in a different place with an escape route already interpreted by the heavenly judges and seers
About to bury you shoveling a dead culture atop a Titanic sonic soul on an away mission to a vision of insanity to sustain the  sanitization of the unadulterated, yet to be rated by voices, 

Waiting to down.

The others are waiting to rise

The knowers with strange winds that will absorb the untouchables whose dreams will fall short of the purest contenders 
True intent 

Those who un-unite dreams shall be ash in the scriptures of history 

With the purity of righteous incepting believers 

In a place of dreams 

Disbelievers of righteous must be disbelieved 
The keep the touch of a feeling of upliftment 
Untouchable 
When it's was created for sensory
And will always be 

P4 Fin

Are you attempting to familiarize yourself with old faces on picture you can no longer picture in your memories 
But they are yours 
And help state you whether or not warranted 

You wanted to own every smile 
You could find 
I did too
And disperse them back to the originator 
You search for the pace of the youthful old 
Boldness Which is reminiscent of what you handled 
That could have dismantled you but no
You as I have enhanced what was never enhanced 
Glances at what can't be touched and loves what thought could not find love 
And risen above 

Ghost yards and bad barbs