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Zombies

By Israfel Sivad

We’re already dead.
You’re not yet.
Take your time.
Breathe some more.
You’ll feel it.
When you do,
you’ll know you have died.

Many ways to taste
death these days.
Zombies cry
every
hour asking
to die soon,
in a few more days.

We don’t have any answers for them.

Yesterday, he was lying
in his bed with a fever.
He was certain that, today,
he would never remember
anything anybody
ever taught him. Instead,
he remembers everything.

“Why can’t I forget
anything that I have seen?
Why can’t I forget
anything that I have been?
Why is it that I can’t be
as numb to me as you are?
And what did you ever do

to make yourself that numb?”

“Maybe it was that moment…
I was still a child.
Adam Bartimo
had me set my palm
atop a shotgun
so that I could feel
the air from the barrel

when he squeezed the trigger.
Maybe, if I’d placed
the gun beside my head,
let it sit beside
my brain, then, maybe,
a bullet might have
been hidden in that barrel,

and I never would have had to think again.”

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at IsrafelSivad.com/
Music performed, arranged, and produced by @the-atmospheric-science
Thumbnail: “Dia De Los Muertos” by Rogelio Ronco: www.rogelioronco.com/

January

By Israfel Sivad

A long time ago,
when we were children,
there was a tree
outside our window.

One day, I saw you
climb as high as
the highest branch
we could see.

When you got there,
you told me
there were more branches
we could climb.

I’d never tried to climb
that high, and it wasn’t
until I finally got there,
I realized you had lied.

We used to pick the fruit
off the ground. We used to
eat the sweets, pick out
the seeds to give to mom.

She would hold them,
seeds as big as her palm.
She would save them.
We would watch them change.

The seeds would turn
from green to brown
to green as they lived,
died, and lived again.

Then, one day,
a birdie said
the tree was
getting sick.

We begged our mom
to tell us why
the tree outside
our window died.

She didn’t have an answer,
but I believed it was because
you had climbed too high.
You told me that was a lie.

There was no more fruit,
nothing to climb.
There were no more lies
for us to tell each other.

All we had left –
a stump where
we could sit
with nothing to see.

Where do you think
our mom kept those seeds?
If we could find them,
we could plant another tree.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music performed by @gn0m0n and @thequintic arranged and produced by @gn0m0n
Thumbnail: “Worlds Best Dad” by Alex Barry

Nighttime

By Israfel Sivad

I know how alone I am.
Sitting in this dark,
dirty apartment in the heart
of a city, I know
how alone I am.

I want to know, do you
know that you are alone, too?
Staring at the TV,
lying by your lover,
reading this poem,

you are always alone.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music arranged and produced by @jonbeardsley
Thumbnail: “Steve” by Soigne Deluxe: www.facebook.com/briansoignewilson

Teresias

By Israfel Sivad

I’m like a blind man;
I have to touch in order to see.

We used to play this game:
You would crawl across my bed,
catch me when I tried to leave.

Every morning, when we woke up,
I’d get dressed to go to work.
You’d tell me how much older I looked.

If you would like to take me home,
then I will let you lead.
If not, don’t try leading me.

I’ll tap my way
along the road
touching all the things
you can’t see.

Last night, I had a dream.

There was a hole in my foot.
Blood poured out of my body.
There was nothing I could do
to stop the tide.

When I tried to feel your eyes,
you pushed my hands away.
How will we ever learn to meet?

I let you have your way.
I let you try to feel me.
Why won’t you let me see?

Let me steal your sight.
You will be blind,
but you will learn to touch.

I will be able to see.
We’ll be as happy as gods can be.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, arranged, and produced by @marcello-messina –marcellomessina.net/
Thumbnail: “Melancholia” by Soigne Deluxe:www.facebook.com/briansoignewilson

Tear down your idols
and follow me
down the path of regret
where no sign posts mark your way
between the landmines and the flowers
and you must carve a swath
through dense, overgrown jungle
predators laying in wait
licking their lips
at the scent of your fear

Tear down your teachers
and follow me
to the city of night
where whores who once knew better
pick the detritus from your pockets
and you must fumble blind
fingers grasping at dicks and stilettos
comedians laughing and grabbing your ass
making good sport
of your secrets and shame

Tear down your parents
and follow me
through the alleys of blood
where razor-eyed dandies
trade your innocence for cash
and slather on the empty praise
fallen angels dancing
on the head of a pin
anxiously awaiting
your first unguarded moment

Tear down your morals
and follow me
in the ghettos of fire
where memories cower
begging to be released
and the reservations at the back of your mind
can bare their teeth and bite you
silicone politicians playing both ends
will be happy to offer assurances
that you’re on the road to freedom

Follow me
if you have the guts
and are so inclined
Just be certain
that you understand
you might not make it back

Max Mundan, Tear Down Your Idols

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226

(via maxmundan)

Tyranny

By Israfel Sivad

The tyranny of the mind is a horrible thing.
An assault on the mind is the utmost disgrace.

Language flows, shifting, an amorphous creation
with no form, no body, only spirit floating through air.
I breathe. I suck my life. I taste the world,
and I exhale my soul in sound.

I defy all those who will abuse language!
To twist their souls to twist your soul
to twist this world into a hideous shape:
A beast, an animal, a monster,
a man devoid of his divinity.

To say a lie breaks only our contract
is a lie breaking our covenant:
A spear in the ribs of the Lord.
A sword through the neck of the martyr.
A thrust in the virgin raped on the altar.

And some would choose to wander blindly
through the sandstorm of a burning night,
tracking, though lost, dusty decaying steps
to catch a golden glimpse of the noble idol.

While I will regret any drop of poison,
any wormwood, ever split my swollen lips.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, produced, and arranged by @Vitaliy-Rybakin
Thumbnail: “Bambi Posessed By Devil” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

Beauty and the Beast

By Israfel Sivad

We can’t write this poem right now.
Don’t worry, we’ll come back to it.

We both know
language is meaningless.
That’s why I never say:
I love you.

I want to lay you down
on a bed of nails,
pinprick you in your soul,
watch you writhe and squirm.

After God unchained us,
we went straight to hell.
We had to fight the devil
in order to get our souls.

We’d been waiting
our whole lives for that.

I’ve still got a scar
from when you cut me.
How does it feel
to be with me again?

The devil looked at us.
He remembered us from before.
“That was a long time ago,
back when we were children.”

He called us to him.
He wanted, one more time,
in death, to try
to reach out and touch us all.

“Maybe,” you say.
“Maybe, I’ll try it someday.”

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, performed, produced, and arranged by @vitaliy-rybakin
Thumbnail: “Beauty and the Beast” by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

Love

By Israfel Sivad

I love my pain.
It keeps me strong.
It keeps me whole.
You can’t have it!

I will never give
what makes me ache,
my heartbreak, to you.
I am the sum of my pain.

Do you understand?
I don’t think you do.
I tried telling you,
but you won’t listen.

I think I’ll have to kill you.

I hung your painting on my wall.
It’s sickly, with five forest rectangles
spaced throughout. Two make eyes.
One is a nose. The others – a mouth.
It’s a crooked face. The paint fades out.

It looks an awful lot like me.

I’m going to take your painting
off my wall. Spit on it. Kick it.
When it won’t break, I’ll use this knife.
Watch the canvas flutter out the window,
a wounded bird crashing down

to the street where it hits the ground.

Do you see your soul ripped apart,
glistening spit in the gutter?
A man picked it up, dusted it off.
There was nothing to save. He threw it away.
Are you happy now? I gave you my pain.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, arranged, and produced by Nanook Sputnik
Thumbnail: Digital drawing by Rogelio Ronco: rogelioronco.com/

Asleep

By Israfel Sivad

He’s sick of lies.
He’s sick of fables.
He’s sick of stories
that help children
go to sleep at night.

He wants what’s real.
He wants what’s true.
He wants the nothing
that is everything
that he sees in you.

One night,
the child had a dream.
He closed his eyes,
and everything disappeared.

He screamed
for his mommy to save him,
but she had gone to sleep.
She couldn’t hear.

The child
tried waking up.
His eyelids fluttered,
but he was stuck.

He slept.
The nightmare
went on forever.
He woke up.

Everybody else had gone to sleep.

Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: IsrafelSivad.com
Music composed, arranged, and produced by @marcello-messina —marcellomessina.net/
Thumbnail: “My Bacteria” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com

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