05-18-2013, 03:12 PM
Phase 1- The Vine
Suburbia's silver nights sways low a hill roof vine
A hole in the sky, a hole in the spirit of the climb
In daylight sink this vow will not, dot plain be me, an astronaut
Oh moon may this ghost make mist oh jungle of moon
The spirit bleeds blue drops blending a fading dew spring
Make blisters of vacuum palms, vacant fairs, and vacant cares
Vile monsters and vile mares, make weeping waves wonder where
Nay sickly dorming, say not the theme, it is the sound of animals mourning
I do see the ground, I do see the town, I do see violets, but I hear the sound
Its haunting every time, lay this time a placid pond
Gentle air, winter stares, its calling thorns so bare
Here swims no leach lick, come crimson thorns in vice grip
Still air leave me, drown this vow will not, dot plain be me, an astronaut
28 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Lay the echoes through the vine, skyward incline is the hole through time
Over roof-lines, over valleys, rain red rivers past passage pines
Sky scrape sky steep, loom drape dye, lowly lasting wonder lie
Lay less or more, damp thorn chore lay not day, day stay with sycamore
Across everything, across something, across galaxies, across nothing
Astronaut, oh astronaut, glide me drift your wings or not
Say not awaken formula, never need caring nothing, crucify by nebula
Sky scrape space steep, loom drape dye, lowly lasting wonder lie
Phase 2- The Silver Jungle
24 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
A moon in slumber, it is a moon, it is my moon
It sleeps on the pillow roof of the vine
It dwells for eternity, for centuries, for seconds
In this nothing I can feel it yearning
In this something I can feel it longing
The thorns became my fingertips
As the dreams became visions
Astronaut your wings have become a silver jungle
The swamps whisper sacred but ripples lie brown
Its tears point to oceans, still yearning
Visions circle a past sky, around the rim of my eye
I can see a world burning
23 days, 0 hours, 0 minuets, 0 seconds, that is when the world will end
Awaken a field, not of orchid
Our slumber turns to wake
Our ghosts become the air
The air, colourless but sold
16 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Roaring waves of time leads layer-less taste
A violent sea, is still a grey face
Its eyes, burning but it bleeds
Bleeding rivers but not red
Crystal blue but it is black
Wonder weaves and wonder tracks
Across the wonder tracks lays a quiver
The eternity cycle of the bound infinity rail-rode
Say it says, it is silver
Phase 3- Dark Genesis
8 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions paint a glowing sea calling to a full moon
The mirror of the silver swamp shows a hollow lion
The ghostly water sways to the lonely pool of birth
It won't be the ease of erasing by eclipse
It will be the mirror of earth
The air in its proto tales of nebula is slender, not surround
Moon says hither its thought hills howled its name
The hill that slumbers crescent
Is the hill that is bound
Its journey through the astral ocean of void
It floated onto the blank sea, that is when
It became full
2 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions mold a nest of crows that become earth with wings gliding crescent
I'm not the longing silver jungle's caped spirit shroud
Or the swamp's endless cycle of nebula calling
I'm the cloaked murmur to the proto planet
In the phantom's shifting eyes it shrieked
In the cry there was a drifting moon
Blue flames of rebirth devour
Behind there was nothing
Rebirth bared its death
Death becomes moon
That is
When
It became Crescent
0 days, 2 hours, 0 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions tell of explosion vanishing to a realm of astral new
I'm not a ghost in the machine
A new jungle would need a forest of spirits
A branch though space to trees calls
I watch it plead, but I will not leave
I must feel the jungle burn
The flames must seep a hole in my chest
A crater to cough so lungs can be blue
That is when
I became a new moon
0, 0 hours, 0 minuets, 0 seconds, that is when the world will end
A gaping hold bleeds to earth as I watched the moon burn
Alright so tell me what you think, I worked pretty hard on this, and let me know which phase was your favourite.
Thanks
-James
Suburbia's silver nights sways low a hill roof vine
A hole in the sky, a hole in the spirit of the climb
In daylight sink this vow will not, dot plain be me, an astronaut
Oh moon may this ghost make mist oh jungle of moon
The spirit bleeds blue drops blending a fading dew spring
Make blisters of vacuum palms, vacant fairs, and vacant cares
Vile monsters and vile mares, make weeping waves wonder where
Nay sickly dorming, say not the theme, it is the sound of animals mourning
I do see the ground, I do see the town, I do see violets, but I hear the sound
Its haunting every time, lay this time a placid pond
Gentle air, winter stares, its calling thorns so bare
Here swims no leach lick, come crimson thorns in vice grip
Still air leave me, drown this vow will not, dot plain be me, an astronaut
28 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Lay the echoes through the vine, skyward incline is the hole through time
Over roof-lines, over valleys, rain red rivers past passage pines
Sky scrape sky steep, loom drape dye, lowly lasting wonder lie
Lay less or more, damp thorn chore lay not day, day stay with sycamore
Across everything, across something, across galaxies, across nothing
Astronaut, oh astronaut, glide me drift your wings or not
Say not awaken formula, never need caring nothing, crucify by nebula
Sky scrape space steep, loom drape dye, lowly lasting wonder lie
Phase 2- The Silver Jungle
24 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
A moon in slumber, it is a moon, it is my moon
It sleeps on the pillow roof of the vine
It dwells for eternity, for centuries, for seconds
In this nothing I can feel it yearning
In this something I can feel it longing
The thorns became my fingertips
As the dreams became visions
Astronaut your wings have become a silver jungle
The swamps whisper sacred but ripples lie brown
Its tears point to oceans, still yearning
Visions circle a past sky, around the rim of my eye
I can see a world burning
23 days, 0 hours, 0 minuets, 0 seconds, that is when the world will end
Awaken a field, not of orchid
Our slumber turns to wake
Our ghosts become the air
The air, colourless but sold
16 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Roaring waves of time leads layer-less taste
A violent sea, is still a grey face
Its eyes, burning but it bleeds
Bleeding rivers but not red
Crystal blue but it is black
Wonder weaves and wonder tracks
Across the wonder tracks lays a quiver
The eternity cycle of the bound infinity rail-rode
Say it says, it is silver
Phase 3- Dark Genesis
8 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions paint a glowing sea calling to a full moon
The mirror of the silver swamp shows a hollow lion
The ghostly water sways to the lonely pool of birth
It won't be the ease of erasing by eclipse
It will be the mirror of earth
The air in its proto tales of nebula is slender, not surround
Moon says hither its thought hills howled its name
The hill that slumbers crescent
Is the hill that is bound
Its journey through the astral ocean of void
It floated onto the blank sea, that is when
It became full
2 days, 6 hours, 42 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions mold a nest of crows that become earth with wings gliding crescent
I'm not the longing silver jungle's caped spirit shroud
Or the swamp's endless cycle of nebula calling
I'm the cloaked murmur to the proto planet
In the phantom's shifting eyes it shrieked
In the cry there was a drifting moon
Blue flames of rebirth devour
Behind there was nothing
Rebirth bared its death
Death becomes moon
That is
When
It became Crescent
0 days, 2 hours, 0 minuets, 12 seconds, that is when the world will end
Visions tell of explosion vanishing to a realm of astral new
I'm not a ghost in the machine
A new jungle would need a forest of spirits
A branch though space to trees calls
I watch it plead, but I will not leave
I must feel the jungle burn
The flames must seep a hole in my chest
A crater to cough so lungs can be blue
That is when
I became a new moon
0, 0 hours, 0 minuets, 0 seconds, that is when the world will end
A gaping hold bleeds to earth as I watched the moon burn
Alright so tell me what you think, I worked pretty hard on this, and let me know which phase was your favourite.
Thanks
-James
wae aye man ye radgie
. And another thing just to help you out, the moon may or may not be the narrator 
. Oh and I too share the fascination with space/ the universe, I actually wrote this so I can include lines about it. As for the elements from Genesis, I thought it would be the perfect way to write the last phase of this. And thanks again for your thoughts on it, I put just about a big part of May in this. Also there is a change in the narrators philosophy in every phase, the last being greatest, which begins at about the second stanza I believe.