Apr 10 2014

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Out of the Wastelands


In the Wastelands the bright sun blinds the mad beast
raging in the windswept desert of the mind.
Left to its own demise the beast carries a torch
of passion that tortures him with fire filled days of
magnetic vice, that steals all traces of his soul.

Near the borderland of madness the beast drags itself
across the borderline, unrecognized by dwellers there.
The dwellers are without sympathy for mindless sufferers
of sanity blinded by the bright sun. They can only
see themselves, and hear their own screams of fear.

The beast rests in quiet indifference
in sane surroundings, where dwellers there
create high walls around themselves and do not
invite others to share their lives.
On the sane side of the border are those,
who fear their own madness and frail sanity.
They believe they hold fire in their hands
that does not burn them.

Black dogs howl and snarl at the white moon
that reveals their deformities,
until clouds hide the moon light
and darkness shades them.
Silver fish disappear
beneath the waters of life
to feed upon the smaller
species swimming in the same sea.
They are we within the wastelands
of the mind and time.

In the sea of time all is lost forever,
memories are dreams and whirlpools growing
wider and deeper consuming all into them,
whirling and twirling around and down into an endless
circle of sea and sound and wind and waves,
until light is gone and night is eternal.

The light of morning is lost in the night.
Seasons are no longer seen or remembered
except, in the memories of the dead.
From out of the wastelands the surviving soul
is alone in the ruins of the world.

L.A. Steel

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