If I Never

6-17-2017 - If I Nevervia Closer to Home

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Death Chords on the Dark Guitar

Death Chords 3 - 6-16-2017

On the mourning of my life

I come awake

I see everything has changed

Through the light of crystal eyes

I make a cave

until I am rearranged

The watchers all are watching,

their vacant eyes

turn my naked skin to clay

I see them through the mist,

a warning that I

must somehow hide away

There are thirteen candles

a tiny pool of tears

Are they the death chords

of the dark guitar

They’re playing death chords

on the dark guitar

 

Who is the faceless woman,

Oh with her danse,

she makes my poor heart afraid

as she moves across my garden,

through the ashes

of fires I have made

If beauty is her mystery

and the faces,

broken windows from my past

may come mocking what I am,

what I have been

and the lady makes her danse

There are thirteen flashes

into tiny pools of fear

Are they the death chords

of the dark guitar

They’re playing death chords

on the dark guitar

 

I see the fingers moving

and thunder

marks the rhythm of my name

as I dig a hole for hiding,

pull my head down

I curse the mourning rain

Thus I built a pyre

until the lightning

made the players’ silhouette

As their bones struck the sinew,

the lady danced

into a falling pirouette

There are thirteen voices

in the flames of the choir

Are they the death chords

of the dark guitar

They’re playing death chords

on the dark guitar

 

In the waking of my life,

I come to mourn

I see everything’s the same

The beast is in the garden

and he charges

until the walls fall down again

When I hear a child laughing,

is it the gods

playing music they have made

the ashes and the golden

left by the boy

where the dancing lady laid

There are thirteen lakes of fire,

piles of rainbows burned to ashes

Are they the death chords

of the dark guitar

They’re playing death chords

on the dark guitar

 

His fingers are bleeding,

fire consumes his mourning

His bloody sword is singing

death dirges forming

Through the blood and fire,

smiling on his faces

Flying high and higher,

through jet streams, Gods, and traces

And to the Earth again,

stone heart caged and bound

Bleeding for the when,

the instant of the sound

She is dancing in his praying,

they go falling far and far

his bleeding fingers playing

death chords on the dark guitar

They’re playing death chords

on the dark guitar

 

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© 2017 artwork, music and words

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Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

via ~songs~

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Curse of Days

~Curse of Days~ X - 6-13-2017

Life don’t teach, amount to much

Children, it’s a slice of bread

It don’t hurt when the fist comes down

drop you to your knees, your head

Something breaking deep inside

Children, take your breath away

Fear is borne, ain’t no good to cry

born into a curse of days

 

Growing up, a battleground

Children, it’s a slice of hell

Detention, take your punishment

No one gets inside your shell

Walls grow thick and deep and wide

Children, hide your love away

Bite the sky, any helping hand

go messin’ with your curse of days

 

Tattooed tear, a pound of flesh

Children, it’s a man, a cage

Ain’t nothin’ like that closin’ door

make temper, set the lines of rage

Angel call it, a whistle down

Children, he got dues to pay

Sun don’t shine on the prison man

living out his curse of days

 

Line moves slow, a lady cries

Children, it’s a loaded gun

She can’t stop

Yeah, she kiss his face

the dead eyes of her fallen son

Ya move along

we plant ‘em deep

Children, we got hands of clay

Beginning and the in between

the end, we got our curse of days

 

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© 2017 artwork and words conceived by and property of

Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

via ~songs~ – Tom (WordWulf) Sterner

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Minutia

6-8-2017 - Minutiavia ~philosophy~ – Tom (WordWulf) Sterner

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Those Without Graves

5-28-2017 - Days of Note - Those Without Graves X blog

On the ride to work each day

I watch the soldiers’ cemetery pass.

Everything appears equal there,

stone tablets standing at attention,

grass trimmed by wiry brown-skinned men.

I see a lady bend down;

she kneels,

sets a cup full of wild flowers before two stones.

 

I feel a hitch in my breath to watch.

 

Flags ever in evidence,

the here and now of this place

and this day, each grave is adorned

with a tiny standard, its solemn face.

A warm day, end of May

I roll to a stop, set my kickstand down,

senses immediately assaulted

by a most deep and haunting sound.

 

My legs walk away from the Harley standing.

 

I stood open witness, his one-man parade,

tartan kilt, regal attire,

pipes slung over his shoulder,

moaning, set the morning afire.

The perfect precision of his gait,

distance practiced, known too well.

Here marched the spirits of these soldiers

to ring their lives with his mournful bell.

 

My heart was flushed with guilt in its watching.

 

His lady, with a single flower,

came to gather up her man,

his pipes with their mournful singing.

She took his arm with her hand.

I went to the stone of her choosing

where Ian the first was lain,

then to the end of the piper’s walk,

the sky shed a tear of rain.

 

These eyes confused in their seeing.

 

A newer stone whose name the same,

here lies Ian the third.

I followed the voice of the piper,

loneliest sound ever heard.

And there was Ian the Junior,
standing aside with his wife,

a fair compliment of mourners

bidding farewell to a life.

 

What greed mine curiosity shown.

 

The pipes trailed away in their singing,

a reverend mumbled words to the sky

that Lord, they are brave in their going,

these lads to their sweet by and by.

A final note owned the moment

to soar with its spirit way up high.

The crack of twenty-one rifles,

exclamation marks against the sky.

 

What mortal undone was I.

 

Ian the second passed by me,

his proud pipes bellowed once more.

His wife let fall of her flower

on top of that last mortal door.

And he paced from Ian to Ian,

this man no one could save,

whose soldier’s sin was still to be living

with father and son in their graves.

 

And the rain hid my face from his eyes.

 

Those without Graves was published by International Veterans Poetry Archives 2004

 

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© 2017 artwork, music & words

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Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©5-28-2017 - Harley at Dad's Grave

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That Which We Cannot

5-23-2017 - That Which We Cannot_pe

He sees them now, his adult children

their flawed and imperfect teeth

good hearts and loving spirits

He wasn’t aware and couldn’t afford

what most good citizens do and can

While raising them he worked hard

a simple man of muscle and blood

He feels ashamed of the ignorance

and poverty of the life he evolved from

Knows too much for his own good now

damned near knocks him down

until they, each and every one of them

hugs him and says, “It’s okay, dad”

They mend his broken parts

teach him it is enough to have survived

the hard life

gained their love and friendship

a process of healing

He’s learned that a man does what he can

to atone for his stature in the long-shadow

of that which he cannot

 

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© 2017 artwork, music & words

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Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

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The Warrior, Angelo

5-19-2017 - Warrior Angelo

Warrior Angelo

 

Yes, we stood before the ramparts

in the face of Satan’s guns

No man cares to be the witness

no one wants to be the one

to howl into the mystery

down fate’s dark canyon death

voices echoing with terror

through the smoke and cannon breath

 

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

 

As we charge into the thick of it

both terrified and brave

the blood becomes our master

and we its willing slaves

We are evil, we are holy

we are all that lies between

The mask of death our warriors’ face

becomes the same obscene

 

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

 

So, we eat a bowl of gruel

our bare feet raise the dust

Any man alone would run

there will be no stopping us

If a tear on heaven’s table

could wash away our sins

the gods might make a waterfall

and forget about the men

 

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

 

In the country of our birthing

we be thinking we’re a man

We cannot touch the sorrow

we do not understand

We kiss the rain this morning

look out across the land

dig a hole for glory

and fill it with a man

 

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

Like a veil of water, we come falling down

 

Warrior Angelo was published by Dystenium 2015

 

http://wordwulf.com/songs

Inquiries: wordwulf@gmail.com

© 2017 artwork, music & words

conceived by & property of

Tom (WordWulf) Sterner 2017 ©

via ~songs~ – Tom (WordWulf) Sterner

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