Insomnia

My dreams spake to me, in the riddled morning sunlight,
Clamoured by the knights shinning armour, it spoke,
"Shiny", my little voice echoed, shiny indeed.

My dreams spake to me, clearing its voice it spoke,
The devil's hour is upon your soul, sleep, the little voice echoed,
"The darkest hour foresees a sunshine", I replied.

My dreams spake to me, chanting mystic words of a world lost,
As the seven colours played, dwarfs in the plot of the White,
The Evil Queen resumed her verbose with the mirror, sleep the mirror did.

My dreams spake to me, shivers, cold, the mind games played,
The balance unhinged, darker powers spooked by the purple Jedi,
The metal has lost its sheen, rapped by the dubbed steps of pain.

My dreams spake to me, shivers,  I feel a disturbed force,
Fear me for the force is strong on my side, I am the chosen one, he says
She slapped, I slapped, he slapped, the words play their parts.

My dreams spake to me, sleep is the mistress I long to forget,
For my love lays in my arms, sleep lurking by the edges,
I want to sleep, but she my life(Oh, mind the rhyme), has different plans.

My dreams spake to me, falter I did, cheat I did, suffer I did,
The truth spoke higher than the dreams, engulfed in the darkness,
Sleep my mistress, my long forgotten love, seconded by knowledge.

Knowledge, my life long strife.

The Symbols in Chaos

The ten tales, gold platted fables,
Hand picked, polished, and let to fly.
Ninth of a piece, twirling in the wind,
The never seeing eye.

A dangling clef, tremolo plays,
Quivering voice of sleep, they fade.

The eighth fable, fabricated in white,
The seventh a sin to foretell.
Crackling fire kindles a remembrance,
Bereaved toll of a forgotten bell.

The pitch vibrates, lets out an angst,
Faith lost in the sinking carpal.

The beast from hell with head count of six,
Break one, form one, divide your fear,
The clock hands made a five,
The all seeing eye, doesn't hear.

Timber of faith, quivering sound,
Southern wind heard a faint cry.

The division bell toll four, morning, and night,
Amber lit sky hit a chord of three.
Pondering the everlasting meaning,
The sky lays, staring on earth, never free.

The tempo rose, sky the limit,
Heart beat along, match they say.

At two in the noon, the sun would smile,
Down at that one lily flower.
I wonder what the sun ever thought,
Locked in an unseen tower.

- Tim

The Other Me

Have you opened your eyes yet,
'No I haven't', I reply,
Have you closed the books yet,
'I have, but why?', I ask,
Its time to be me.

Have you cleared your thoughts?,
'No, I haven't', I reply,
Clear them, for they are mine,
'Who are you?',I ask,
Its time to be me.

Have you bid farewell to past,
'No I haven't', I reply,
Have you made peace yet?
'Why should I?', I ask,
Its time to be me.

'Who are you?', I ask,
Silence is my name,
'Why should I be you?',
You need to be complete.
I become you, I am me again.

The Bloom

She winks, 
The mischief, twinkle, 
She winks,
The silent grim,
And the bloom,
That saw no sun light.

She winks,
Death she cribs,
She winks,
Nothing makes sense,
I blink at death,
The existence, a pain.

She winks,
Makes stories,
She winks,
Kill the horror,
Fading light, escape,
The scene of thousands.

She winks,
Cradle of the undead,
She winks,
I was a friend !!!
Kill the messenger,
Peace I believe is myth.

She winks,
I cringe with pain,
She winks,
Fire burns less, 
The flower blooms,
Night, no light, no witness.

Fear Of a Crimson Dream

Wrapped around in a hazy dream, I slip down a pipe hole,
Frozen in fear, as the solitude becomes my nightmare,

Green witch clad in a purple robe, wave your wand, let me free,
As the anger I smoke in, to breath out a crimson cloud of dream.

I walk, leading my path, a burning fire, wobbling in front of me,
I slide to see what is there for me to see, blank spaces with seesaws.

I see her run infront of me, my little guardian angel, who never sleeps,
But today she is drunk, she is drunk with my ingratitude, and solace.

Life played a trick on me, magic is never true, I shout in the streets,
Life played a trick on me, left me to fend for my self, I paint on the walls.

The crimson nights would come, when the dreams would cease,
Then the shades of yesterday would comfort your sleep, as you try to dream.

A unicorn that flies, with the wings of a mighty eagle, pure as white,
Dreams are for those who can sleep, but for me, its the black of the blankness.

Spaces

Jumbled in his brain, a bug roams,
From nerve to nerve, it hops and crawls.
He sits and the time stops,
Compressed in his imagination.

Closed within the wall he tries to be strong,
But the walls grow and the memories explode,
Was it darkness or the fading light,
The bug flourishes in the empty thoughts.

The bug crawls, eating his strength,
It walks within the square he drew.
Spine chilling laughter, a glitter in its eye,
Is it fear or the insanity that looms.

He wakes every morning, thinking of the dreams,
Clusters of memories collapse, darkness ensues.
Is it the open spaces he fears,
Or the frozen time and closed Squares.