Saint Florent

Like a Stone

So the slow hand of demise has finally reached you, another poisoned heart on display

You, the fool the morning star gilded bright and golden, crave and in need for complications

The lone crow is watching you as you on bloodied knees make your way up the steep hill

Alone to meet your fellow man, he who has no name and reputation to hold high in triumph

As two lone wounded animals you make the ascent for new frontiers, seeking new land

The herd is gathering, glazed eyed and confused, one by one coming closer for warmth and comfort

Words lose their meaning, quickly forgotten and left unquestioned as the journey quickens

Can you take the fall that is waiting at the end of the road, are you ready for the plunge

Air once stagnant with the stench of self-preservation and greed turns lighter as you adapt

Transparent, a soft whisper that lingers as a memory you take control of your limits

Only he who has known the taste of guiltless blood will know the way up and beyond

Only he who will leave no trace behind when he enters the shadows will die a free man

Forgotten and formless, you walk alone and can not beg for forgiveness nor ask for answers

So stay hungry on the road, navigate with a steady hand as bystanders evade the reason

Take control, nothing being said in the watchtower tonight, the wind keeps shaping the stone

The Last Enemy

They say that there are cracks that leaks in into empty rooms

Corner-less and dark rooms long forgotten by sensible men

Echoes and sounds from the surrounding gets trapped and reaches nowhere

With a fathomless understanding of rusty deeds the seeking man is passing by these rooms

He does not stop nor pay any interest in what the blackness behind a crack may hold

The only thing on his mind is the step that takes him past and out of sight

Lacking the meanest animal instinct of self preservation. A deep disregard for the being reflecting back

To not be proud of oneself and not at ease with ones nature or impulses

Qualities of nil that since a misty childhood always has lingered and irritated

Walking with a steady phase into the dark, no regrets and with a vision on complete darkness

Thoughts rushing by like low flying swallows, seeking deeper into the void

Echoes of past memories behind corners and bends that leads downward

Stop here, hear the heartbeat of death. Listen not, hear

Let your feet stand to feel the vibration of a living earth

Stop here, breath the fragrance of dead rock and decaying matter

The man under the parachute is always dead, falling controlled as he realize his fate

Acceptance of chaos, corner less dark rooms holds onto the myth that you once were

Illusion is the shadow that gives you movement in the light, you can touch it but it’s not there

Understand all, ignore nothing

Black rooms will forever be filled with the echoes and sounds of all easily forgotten

Seeking men seeking the man, he who knows that all is nothing

As Forever is now

Frank Savage / Saint Florent, Corsica 1972

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