Myrmidons project

[Soulstice]

The Reapers

This light; it's the only thing that keeps him breathing
On a boat getting thrashed by the deep blue Demons
They eat through seamen - foot-long katana pearly whites
Eyes filled with sin; as the bitter wind tangles the whirling night
The burning light that he uses to turn and fight the leviathans
They're necks entwining, he'll only survive by divinest whim
This Hydra-thing takes every blow; the dragon persists
And it's tail whips back and forth and it rattles the ship
Blackening fists, wracking his grip; the writhing wreath of neck
That towers over; scented with the sour meat of death
He keeps his chest sturdy in the wake of crewmates rogue limbs
Battling monsters with the light; against the blue grave his souls in

It's a crude fate, we're old kids fighting to rhyme and reason
In the night we define the treason in a dreamscape
for our dream's sake we strive for ceilings..
Our tiny light, our burning ship in the ink black sea of monsters
Fighting for air, against a world we just need to conquer

The sable robes, the hooded guises - crimson red, crooked eyelids
Blackened features, bastard creatures, the living dead, they look in silence
Or reverence for the eminence permeating evilly, strongly
The herd's breathing is haunted, by ghosts of the past
The reapers shepherd them forth - showing the flow of the path
A pale symposium grasped by the clutches of grim shadows
Moving to the drum of the reapers; like bunches of sick cattle
Their fists rattle as they wave them to a field of desolate graves
The pale horde can't recall memories or remember their names
Only feel a center of pain - ushered forth like goats entering barns
These poor folk.. alive.. but dead in the heart

But not him! No he's escaped the treacherous ocean waves
And progresses along the road he paves, slowly escaping
A closing grave - on the island where he pursues a treasure
Armed with his light; a might that only few can measure
Truly weathered; slip and be left for dead in seconds
Using his light; he equips his second weapon..
..A deadly blessing; he draws a pad and parchment
For which he exchanged his classic armor
As he leaves the shore and enters the island's forest
He meets the wrath of archers! A suprising chorus of violent forces
He battles harder, than ever, despite a forever of fighting
Trying to fulfill a dream that must be measured in lightning!
Quick hot flashes in long battles, he wars with the enemy
Fighting with his light and his pen; supporting his destiny

The reapers watch and laugh as the hobbled cast proceeds
Afraid and unalive, shells of flesh with a lack of dreams
Tragic schemes of fates fallen short, afraid to leap
That sweat in the killing fields, under the blazing heat

But he is not afraid to chase what is his, what is calling his name
He fights through the soldiers, although he is crawling with pain
Impossible strains, as he fights through the wooded paths
Out of breath - hearing sounds of stress in each crooked gasp
But look, at last, he has reached his mountain peak
And he is validated by the knee-jerk sound he speaks..
"Finally" - He begins climbing and climbing
His hope's silently rising - his heart is beating what fate is designing

The reapers twitch and instantly, all eight turn eastward
A visible rage, shown by their shaking features
The angry creatures fly off, sensing something painful to see
Some rebel living his life, and chasing his dreams

He's reached the top of the mountain, his passion rewarded
Creativity forging against the violent path he was touring
He feels he's actually soaring, through the cloudless skies
Nothing but sun until he collides with a shrouded guise
He feels under the gun - his drowning cries grow weaker
His spirit fleeting, caught in the undertow of the reapers

he can hear them whisper...

Embrace the scythe - relax and leave this painful life
Escape the strife and fade to night - let the reapers take you
Even the grateful types need not even speak a thank you
After all, Destiny calls, lie down beneath the hopeless sky
Let your open mind heal, seal, and relax your broken spine
Close your eyes and hear the gentle crackle of your last gasp
And sport a smile while your soul shatters to a laugh track
.
.
.
.
He sees the reasons to fail - a haggard man strapped for cash
Beggin for change from the regular slaves in plastic masks
He sees his parents shaking their heads, a woman laughing and leaving
He hears an audience ***kle.. he feels lumps trapped in his breathing
.
.
...no.
.
.
.
He draws his light, his way of knowing this is what's right
A blazing beacon that acts like a gun in the night
Like a motherly sprite, it guides him to his quill and paper
As he pens words, excerpts return the thrill he savors
He grips his saber, a blade constituted of art and passion
A martyr acting against the eight Necropolis kings
Reaching for his third weapon, unleashing whats bottled within

He draws his final weapon...
...unaware of what it could be
Until Now!

He takes a peek through the looking glass
and sees all of earth's population looking back
Everything he's ever done, is under the scrutiny
As he trips and bumbles and stumbles beautifully
Through poems of mistakes and paintings of failings
He feels a heart beating, that aches for prevailing
He knows now - billions of eyes couldn't possibly matter
As the wind whips and kicks up, like God calling for rapture
The Reapers are ripped away into the bluest sky
As he finally begins chasing his dream.. truly alive


The False Cartographers

He had a name - not that he could recall the meaning
Not under the pressure of these falling ceilings
Not while he's lost in a cosmic reeling - among the city's aether
Searching for his name in the dismal weather - turning locks
On vaults of feeling - grooming verdant thoughts, hes rocking, kneeling
Thought -
What has purpose brought but a riddle measured as fickle treasure?
A bird with wrinkled feathers - caught in the galloping thunder
A day dreamer battling slumber - alone in the vicious rain
Beneath the overpass freeway;
A screenplay of grave theater/trappings of wonder
what is his name?
Flying through different frames of the metropolis maze
Trying to convince himself he's honestly sane
Caught in a haze of alchemy experts - tying off beneath balcony networks
Where the clothes of the poor hang ragged with wet dirt
Their chests hurt; scarlet burden - should he don that armor?
Searching for that song he harbors; his heart is certain
He's the wrongful martyr behind this cosmic curtain

Desperate for his name, to break away from the city pavement
Catching different wavelengths from the Gospel's ripping pages
this misty matrix - won't grant passage from the binds of fate
Lost in the violent traits behind the slums iron gate
This is the final place as his gait stalls and dies
With no chance of escaping these walls, divine.

She had a face, but couldn't understand the curves
Nor help but feel like she's falling off of Planet Earth
This has been the plan since birth - a damning curse
Her candle burns, but won't illuminate the desert skies
She follows tracks that span the dirt - that mesmerize and tell her lies
of better lives past this granite turf
...
A head full of ghosts, and blackened faith
She grapples rage facing the battle blades of a lesser fate
Trapped in the weathered plains of the nether's waste
A fettered face - she can't escape who she is
On this desert byway - things are better my way
A useless wish to Heaven's highways
& the Truth, it hits; like a group of brick, or another vocation
She'll watch the desert stars shine down on another location

His name is spelled out in plainest letters beneath the rainy weather
And the thunder's shaking tremors - between the looming monoliths
Crude and ominous - steel towers spell doom for a ruined populace
Caught dead in the middle on confusions continent
His head is a little - airy, like his fading heart
But he shrinks into the shadows, and plays his part

Her face is ugly as demons unleashed from the bowels
The ones beseeching this queen with their screams and their howls
Feed for the final - stay out on the desert plains
Living in the carcass of a vulture's wrecked remains
Her present grave.. no matter her dreams
The passage, it seems - is sealed by the wasteland
& this maid's hand can't shatter the screens

Address the purpose - nervous, searching fruitlessly
For delusions of grandeur to trump the saintly sunrise
Faith laced in dumb sighs, combined with
Unspoken fears of broken gears turning cluelessly
A masterpiece of scattered entropy
still
.. working beautifully

We're all mapmakers writing fiction on a blueprint
but there's no escaping what's been made for us