fiddlin-leo

[fiddlin-leo]

I’m glad you know a thing or two

About how to stay in line

I just know how to do one

Fast forward into time

Funny that the brain is gray

With so much color in this life

But it seems as if this color

Has only caused us strife

To be blind would be the difference

They say ignorance is bliss

Impossible to hide the fact

That something is amiss

Far into the distance

Is perhaps our saving grace

But we must find the tower

And meet it face to face

Logic is nonsensical

Says the reflection in time

The heart will spill into words

Like grapes spill into wine

[fiddlin-leo]

My heart it spills

Into words

What seems without meaning

When my subconscious is screaming

The fog of my direction

Linked directly to perception 

Meant to change the world

If only within some eyes

Meant to pull the veil 

Off of the disguise

Separate colors come together

All within a flash

While all that we’ve been told

Is strictly balderdash

5-19-2020

[fiddlin-leo]

Lovesong for the Devil

I should have known

From the eyes

You love the element of surprise

Did I taste good

In your mouth

Was my hand soft

When you drug me South?

Shedding your skin

I watched in horror

As you begged

Was I a martyr?

The darkness had won

Devil, stay away

You aren’t the one

4-19-20

[fiddlin-leo]

Thoughts on Quarantine-1

Reality is slowly slipping away. It’s incredible how much we rely on society for our sense of normalcy. We’re being forced down, silently drowning with a small check of $600 dollars shoved in our mouths to keep us quiet. Some don’t even get that much. 

Can’t you hear the screaming through the gagged mouths of starving children? The mothers ripped apart from their young, forced to stay in cages like an animal. Can’t you hear the screams of their agony? Sitting in the stagnant heat, wailing from a hole in their heart and you sit and eat the flesh of their children. A decadent feast, partaking in the exact brand of witchcraft you war and wage against. Women kept in chains and raped. Children kept in chains and raped. Men kept in cement cells behind bars for trying to feed their families

Drowning. 

Gasping for air

And you sit, praising yourselves for a job well done

While we have been BURNING

for hundreds of years

But it seems as if you cannot see

That once the fire is stoked

The flames will soar

Taking everything in it’s path

Possessed by demons

Darkness has taken rulers by the hand, slow dancing them to the underworld

Growing warmer from the drunkeness of power

Nipping from the elixir of life

Not realizing the warmth is just a closeness to these flames

They’ve always craved the blood of the innocent

The demons work through them

Creating modern rulers

Dominated by ancient darkness

Spoken of in Revelation

Until light prevails

And it will glimmer

In the spilled blood

4-16-20

[fiddlin-leo]

Things to be Grateful for; Grandmother

The laughter of a child. 

Overhearing an interesting conversation. 

Warm sun on a crisp, cool day and a bright blue sky. 

Watching something bubble or cook. 

When a dog puts their head on your hand. 

Having a big, green backyard. 

The warmth of another person after you’ve been cold and wet all day, and you finally lay down in bed with them. 

When the moon is orange and the air is thick around you, and somehow time moves slower.

Doing something for the first time and having your breath taken away. 

Thinking on the upthought of things, climbing

The dawn of a soft pink, static morning

It doesn’t always have to be a grand scheme of colors to be beautiful

There is beauty in song, memory, feeling and smell. 

Coffee in my grandmother’s kitchen. It was eternal. 

Mothball smell. The room was always warm. 

The way she always put a little bit of rouge on my cheeks when she did her makeup. 

The tinkle of her laugh and twinkle in her eye. 

Always cinnamon air freshener in the bathroom

With a psychedelic trip of a laundry room, hot pink, orange and avocado green striped wallpaper. It was always warm and smelled clean in there. 

It can’t be recreated. 

2-21-20

[fiddlin-leo]

A Prayer

This is for those who are in pain

For those who leave the light on

Those who have no room for empty spaces

For those who are hollow and cold, dying to feel

Those who been beaten down

Busted and Bruised on a daily basis

Whose feet are covered in blisters

And continue to walk miles everyday

For those who sing

In a silent hall

Those who bring touch

To someone cold

Who drown themselves

While already underwater

Who carry a thousand pounds

Of secrets over their head

2-2-20

[fiddlin-leo]

Selling The House

Its strange, the more empty and displaced a house is, the more it feels as if it is slowly swallowing you and everything could cave in all at once. it is only brought to life from the life within it...they help keep the mouth shut. The void has less space. 

Invisible dark seeps out of the walls and slowly begins to crawl up your leg, feeling as unnatural as it sounds. The tree stumps. The dead plants who once fruited. The empty pots. Dust layered on the untouched items that once played music...and the little things...the cookie jar. The bottles, the photos. The pages and pages of writing with words of heartbreak and dried tears, hidden and scattered throughout the house. Fragments of moments only held in our minds. It can feel good to live a memory, while holding something physical that also existed within the story of our mind. It’s less likely to slip away when you can hold onto the physical, and isn’t that our worst fear? For memories to slip away?

2-1-20