Revolutionize Reality (holdxonxtoxme) wrote in the_ideal,
Revolutionize Reality
holdxonxtoxme
the_ideal

  • Mood:

MOD



Unfortunately, all of my webspace is being used by graphics, so one picture is all you'll get.

Talent:

Dante the giant.

Such a petty moment of discord,
Left abruptly, swallowing a year.
An instant of the graceless,
Embraced by your fallen comrades.
Hair the color of a crows wing,
You bare the cross of beauty.
Trudging with sorrow among the voiceless,
You surrendered your song for a needle.
Such a petty moment of lust,
Left euphoric, swallowing a month.
An instant of the immoral,
Embraced by few.
Eyes the color of dried diamonds,
You bare the nails of vision.
Wallowing in self-illusion,
You surrendered your pride for an orgasm.
Such a petty moment of greed,
Never lasting, swallowing a week.
An instant of the gluttonous,
Embraced by only you.
Body of a nymph,
You bare the blood of infamy.
Crawling in despair,
You surrendered your youth to Caesar.
Such a petty moment of treachery,
Left bloody, swallowing a day.
An instant of the enraged,
Embraced by two.
A murderer and a victim,
A creature slaughtered by you.
Hands the color of crimson,
You bare the mark of such a beast.
Agreeing to a throne, alongside the wretched,
You surrendered your soul for sin.
Such a petty moment, is that of time,
Immortal substance of occasion, swallowing all.
A calendar embraced by itself.
Life and death the fate of beings, deities, and universes alike,
We bare the necessity of the inevitable.
Surrendering ourselves to a path,
Unnoticeable and complete.
Such a petty moment of judgement,
Is that of the unbounded.
Embraced by discord, lust, greed, treachery, and murder,
Spinning the threads that belong to the fates.
Sleeping here in a bed made for you by the aberrant,
Comfortable in the arms of many.
Such a petty moment of revelation,
Embraced by your fleeting conscious.
Spirit left abandoned,
Baring the wounds of chosen discord.


Subjected to sound, a violin is present.
Ever motioning a quickness of stride to the concerto,
Of deep pungent earth, boundless jungles thrive.
Beneath the footfalls of many, fallen foliage and existence,
Of sunrises against striking cheekbones, of darkness seeping beneath the outlines of rising civilizations.
A swelling of strings,
Golden light blooms against prominent gloom.
Of birth, of flesh melding, and of dawn.
A heart beats here.
In moderation, a slow and rising crescendo.
Ever motioning the falling of fruitless worship, of deities long forgotten,
Against the tides a woman stalks.
Her blonde hair tussled with fragrant air, of sea.
She dances, foams of acumen collect at her dainty feet.
Of mist and perception, of intellect and of the mind, of poetry and precise calculations,
Of brilliance, of the waking evening, of objectivity, of song and ability,
A thought arises here.
Melody and harmony converge, a soprano sweeps with vocal praise.
Ever motioning passion with a leap of octave,
A wavering account of requiem, of bereavement, of all things now deceased.
As tides drawn by subtle moonlight, of dilated pupils, of exhalation.
Of massive destruction, of malevolent rulers, of the foul vacillating of conflict.
Against the nomadic support of humanity, the woman submits.
Of rushing tides of sand, inside a tilted hourglass.
An orchestra turned to dust with the motion of a lipless gesture,
A single finger against the hushed silence,
Darkness swallows.
One performer is left, knowing her inevitable fate, an alto with slippery hands,
Her music falls against the brim of the soundless pit.
A voice of memory, she sings.
Low and steady, her eyelashes salty and dark against pale skin.
Song of revival, of two whole notes, silently counting the beats, tapping her leg.
Of endless nights, of abyss, of the oncoming darkness which awaits her silence,
Three, four, her wordless air continues.
Of the conclusion of profligate stages, of the finality of life, and the cleansing of rebirth.
Five, six, seven, her voice remains strong.
A glimpse of paradise against the rising and setting of suns, of the stars and cosmos.
Eight.
Of church bells quieting, of soundless voices aging, of depth ceasing.
And of dust.
Renaissance arises here.
Da capo.



Why am I ideal?

I made the community, and I am whatever I say I am. ;D
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 9 comments