Baraka through Tool's Disposition

no words of mine can truly do justice to this.

scenes from the film Baraka, to the sounds of Tool's Disposition.



immerse..

crew expendable

these dogs barking cold
and the happiness unsold,
first glow upon thieveries
of a thawed heart slithered.

it's a melancholic software,
throes of illusion grow rare,
some hours breathe longer
under acid burns' orders.

slay the reptilian smiles
with crosswords of denials,
still inch after lonely inch
temples dry between winces.

though windows still look out,
mirrored they silence shouts,
this windbreaker cannot hide
the drowned from the tide.

sunflower laws will not wither
the weed's yearn for winter,
as the stayed kniving hand
will never nourish the land.

just as the walls quiet again,
born of dissent there is a man,
faltering not before apocalypses,
duct-taped to life nearly missed.

weathered

it's exhausted, bathed in gloom
that new light arises old hearts
over dirty shoulders guilt looms
barbed wire wrap severed parts

saturdays replete with beginnings
sundays drenched in lost feelings
weeks of spiders crawling under
shards of hope cutting blunt

the dawn steals all the reasons
that the night promised as whole
dirty caskets of shared treasons
don't belong in stories untold

rain down hell in souls wretched
no peace, no home and no rest
still doubts disappear from moments
cascading fast in buried lungs

the words remain in silent hills
as drops of time in burning reels

the room

strings of attachments renewed
as vows of lies forever
the sirens call for sanity
but the undertakers are busy
and the flowers wither and are reborn,
dancing with destiny.
the lines crossed become part of what separate us
and the tingling of life
becomes muter by the word.

the words sparse as joys say nothing
and the music between spaces become communication tools
and the ceiling gets closer
and the windows look darker
and there is something else unspoken and misunderstood.

the cries elsewhere are now shades of horizon,
a soundtrack to our islands.