Born on Traces
2006
Again very youthful writing and I don’t really know what I’m truly getting at.
Tortured still every mile that I pace
Upon my road of lanterns lace
The the road to hell I drag behind
Fighting, biting harshly at my feet
Could it be the dead still traveling behind me quick?
My soul thereafter, all the laughter
Pouring out an evil fleet.
Far ahead of me to meet
It is my head, my bed
Dosing me in sleep
This I will travel far to meet
I fell upon a fiery entry
That my mind has dreamed of since
I saw no perilous warning
Heard no scorned wings
I carried on my tiresome ring
Derangement melts my heart still.
Prying, lying
Of the things I saw
Thought foolish I squire, a fire
Forbidding angels spread their wings
Within these dirges finding
Often I hear them, fear them.
Enduring the terrific lights of darkness
My art seems to rotate as phantoms
The final anthem
Rising out the land
Walking, stalking as a stealthy line within my hand.
It shine, telling me it’s over. The wrong way, silent day.
Prowling, into the night above the bed I lay
Sneaking back and too again
Again I wake in another’s home
But not so quite alone
Farther I escape into my mind
So I go, slow, by all means
Out into the earth
Closer it becomes, looking vaguely
The only war we triumph, it draws, falls closer.
Wildly something breaks, aches in pain of birth
Why be born? To live, give the breath you possess
It’s 1556 and I am walking, talking a perfection.
Perfection hopeless to say
Hopeless to believe, believe what is to come.
It’s perched on the knoll above, in love of churches and stores and people none.
Yes, how this road has come undone.
—C.R.Stanger
2006
What in the heck am I talking about... too old to know.. I know some things but back when you wrote just stuff that sounded deep but wasn’t I believe ... idk. Your guess is good as mine.
