Riffer

The light of my existence has gone out, for I, myself, by calloused hands was made of mortals in their godly masquerade. My once apparent purpose now in doubt. They will find something else to dote about for even gold that glitters now will fade. Into an early grave I have been laid. My gods have me abandoned, though devout. Abandoned, though, I may not really be, for I have done my service, served my time. But in my fear of death I did not see. Like fruit that tumbles, dead, down from the tree and plants a seed, the way I was designed lives on, and this will be my legacy.

Candles The candles of a child's desires light up a darkened sky. He stares up at them, longingly, their pedestals so high. His clean hands reach toward these lights, content now in their warmth. Up to the heavens he will gaze when problems, now, come forth. Chorus: The wicks of candles burn away with bleeding, waxy wounds. A few grow brighter, few go out, increasing yearning gloom. The inncocence of childhood lost. Sweet poison knowledge is. One star now brighter still it grows. A sick desire, be this. Now dirtied hands reach for the sky to clouded candlelight. The purest flames of hopes and dreams now glowing dark and b

Radiance The sullen angel sits in the shadows. A pale light flutters into the room, like white doves on a black sky, but she doesn't see it. She can't see how it flits and plays on her off-white gown. She doesn't give the light a passing glance. The shadows envelope her. Her halo, in her eyes, is split in two, and attached to the sides of her head. She sees the feathers of her noble white wings slip out, and fall slowly to the floor. She sits down among them, and hugs her knees close... Maybe if she gets small enough, she can disappear. Minutes pass. Hours even. Still she sits in the shadows. The radiance shines consistant

The sand falls steadily between her fingers. She gazes, indifferently at a plethora of identical faces. Every man goes to her. They love her beautiful hourglass figure. She takes each, by the hand, and walks them slowly to their graves. Why can't she leave me alone? Why can't I free from her grasp? Why can't she go, with those identical faces, those rabid madmen, and leave me alone?

The Day the Universe Disappeared According to his psychiatrist, the source of his problems were the "what if's." Like any normal person, Anthony often wondered what he'd be like now if something else had happened... Like, what if the band he formed in high school had hit it big? What if he had done the biology degree he wanted to do instead of doing programming? What if he hadn't been stirred out of unconsciousness in that alley by his would-be wife? What if his first child hadn't been stillborn? What if his daughter had been born a boy? These thoughts are normal, and wouldn't lead to such a degree of paranoia and dementia. It was the other