Eliot & Thomas

Reading beauty makes me want to rage into the morning and through the afternoon.

The words so eloquently displayed across my eyes.

Travel through another’s mind and another’s time and I abide by their message.

I feel the words inside and let them swim along the outskirts of my vision

and control my breath while my heart beats in rhythm.

The blood flows through beauty and pumps because of it.

A set of life so precious that it might birth a split lip and boiled through the heat of my gaze.

I want destruction.
I want abyss.
I want chaos.
Reign down upon this world.

But the words remain of beauty that were once in their own tumult.

Spawned against a dropped curtain in their own time by those willing to scream into the night.

The voices have gone silent now, have they.

The mouths have been covered,
or told what to say instead of saying what needs to be told.

The hollow men have marched
and the dying light is all but faded
the rage has been smothered to a whimper.
What will finally kill it,
or spark a blaze again in fury?