Voice in my head

There's a voice in my head
And not a little voice like some have
It's a powerful voice
A bellow or a boom
That shouts and roars and screams
Shaking the earth and
Shattering dreams
It utters profanities
And whispers murderous lies
Deathly and terrible
Full of nothing but malice
Death death it cries,
Hate hate it yells,
Crying to the four winds
To the seven seas
To the seven continents
Hissing at all that is and was
All the horrors that makes up humanity
All the terror that makes us
Terrorists
Spreading hues of darkness
Spreading scents of filth
Hatred and sorrow and
All sorts of hell

I have a voice in my head
But it's not a little voice
It cries tears
Real tears of many years
And it yells
Inside my head
Internal and never seen
Kicking and hissing and
I don't want, I don't know
Never seen and never heard
Because outside
I'm smiling

Snow Dream

I dream of snow drops
All laden with snow
I dream of a woman
All laden with tears
I dream of a father
Coming round the hill
With his horse trampling the frost
Sword held high
Crying "nay, nay, nay!"
As the fields are whitening
Filling with the cold of snow
And the ravens are cawing
Scrabbling at bitter air
As the dew turns to ice
In the chill of winter morning
The father is coming
Around the hill, crying
"Nay, nay, nay!"
Trying to battle back winter
With his naked blade.

The Necromancer And The End Of The World

This is the dying of the light
This is when all things turn to night
This is a peace that shall be kept
For the dead man cannot object.
There will be a great cry over all
And the last great wonder shall fall
The last great man will wonder
As the world is torn asunder.
He will stand on a green grass hill
Nothing according to his will
But he will ponder the life eternal
As all becomes nocturnal.
The dead will rise and the live will die
They will turn to dust with a sigh
And all the necromancer can do
Is see it all right through
For though he is the man of death
He is still, nevertheless, of health
He is of life and breath and blood
And not of ash, but of mud
A mud that was made eons ago
In a volanic pit moving slow
A soup of biology and fleshy cells
That were born in the mouth to hell.
So this time that is to come to pass
Will come at the era of the second last
And when the last second ticks by
All the living will surely die.
Excepting he who lives beyond
Who lives with death, in death's song
But he will not be able to control his fate
Instead it will be forever too late.
Instead the necromancer will be alone
Not able to die, but still of flesh and bone
Thus he will be of two worlds, and none
Like passion caught between moon and sun.
He will worship the night and the day
Nothing good coming his way
The death will avoid him, and so alone
He will live out eternity, on his own.

Not God

Somethings I don't know
But then
What would it be to know everything?
To know all that there is
To hold the verses in the palm of your hand
Those that were
Those that are
How would it be to
Know all and not be able to learn?
To not go to school and be taught
And not fill your mind with new wonders?
For how can you wonder
When things are not new
When you
Already know what the sunset is going to be like tonight
When you
Already can see what the quantum atom is
How can you
Be able to flow and change
With the ebb of times
When all you are is static
For you know all
You see all
And all there is
Is your omniscience
Mate
You're not fucking God.