The Harbinger's House
Poem by Phire_Pipper
Behind the harbinger’s house that holds my lies,
The ominous wind would call,
Would sing chants of past life melodies,
Whispering them in my ears,
Would paint images of sunken holes,
Graves.
And I, I have grown accustomed to its wind,
The suffering of pleasure between the staffs of its overtones,
And the imperfections in its brush strokes,
Even though it holds unsettling feeling,
I find home here.
I’ll know soon the mould it will leave.
But-- It only exists for a moment,
Fore the harbinger’s house is only tangible in the state of yet to come,
And when what follows arrives.
We need the comfort that’s found in shelter
We watch the harbinger’s house crumble in the black wind,
That used to plea for another chance to sing.
Keeping to its cruel departure,
It will go, as gone, until the deathly sentiment,
Journeyed its path, again.
When it finally leaves,
The terror is unleashed,
Then the emptiness arrives.
The rancor of life is instantly, so very amplified;
Poisoning the mind, circulating the venoms affects.
Spite, regret, and hate are suddenly dominant,
Along with the truth of my fear,
But, there is no mercy in the truth of your lies,
Such truth may scare the bravest of us,
But we must learn, to just—Shut off,
Heal our mind from the poison,
Our mouth from spilling lies,
Our ears, hearing the singing murmur of specters,
And our eyes, from the sight of what we were;
We’ve learned know, to block out the state of the present,
And break free from our prison,
To overcome the worst fear of all.
The truth.
But some, left behind, in the ghost of the harbinger,
will never know the virtue of honesty
Fore the phantom has left, and perished on the way.
They, who followed the line of what’s passed on,
They, in the future, will live in the past,
Then the wind will lullaby, and crocendo back to them, that aria of the dead
And paint beautiful visions that came from the active lies.
Which made me reach out for,
A sign of shelter, comfort.
In the pain of others and myself,
In time, I would have succumbed to hate, spite, and regret,
Soon the death of another,
Would be the only thing,
That could bring me a single moment of
Happiness.
Poem by Phire_Pipper
Behind the harbinger’s house that holds my lies,
The ominous wind would call,
Would sing chants of past life melodies,
Whispering them in my ears,
Would paint images of sunken holes,
Graves.
And I, I have grown accustomed to its wind,
The suffering of pleasure between the staffs of its overtones,
And the imperfections in its brush strokes,
Even though it holds unsettling feeling,
I find home here.
I’ll know soon the mould it will leave.
But-- It only exists for a moment,
Fore the harbinger’s house is only tangible in the state of yet to come,
And when what follows arrives.
We need the comfort that’s found in shelter
We watch the harbinger’s house crumble in the black wind,
That used to plea for another chance to sing.
Keeping to its cruel departure,
It will go, as gone, until the deathly sentiment,
Journeyed its path, again.
When it finally leaves,
The terror is unleashed,
Then the emptiness arrives.
The rancor of life is instantly, so very amplified;
Poisoning the mind, circulating the venoms affects.
Spite, regret, and hate are suddenly dominant,
Along with the truth of my fear,
But, there is no mercy in the truth of your lies,
Such truth may scare the bravest of us,
But we must learn, to just—Shut off,
Heal our mind from the poison,
Our mouth from spilling lies,
Our ears, hearing the singing murmur of specters,
And our eyes, from the sight of what we were;
We’ve learned know, to block out the state of the present,
And break free from our prison,
To overcome the worst fear of all.
The truth.
But some, left behind, in the ghost of the harbinger,
will never know the virtue of honesty
Fore the phantom has left, and perished on the way.
They, who followed the line of what’s passed on,
They, in the future, will live in the past,
Then the wind will lullaby, and crocendo back to them, that aria of the dead
And paint beautiful visions that came from the active lies.
Which made me reach out for,
A sign of shelter, comfort.
In the pain of others and myself,
In time, I would have succumbed to hate, spite, and regret,
Soon the death of another,
Would be the only thing,
That could bring me a single moment of
Happiness.
