Only Hieronymus Bosh knows… Ronnie Tucker

 

Soundscapes so surreal
That bite and they feel
Like vivid images on canvas
Bleeding in water colored tears
So melochany and on display

Words streaming echoes of a tortured poet
In constant battle within his own self
Chaotic verses shuffled in reverse
Yet so colorful and mystical
They are the backwards messenger even if the message is beyond understanding

Into the garden of delight
We call our home
In the prophetic mind only Hieronymus Bosh knows
He tasted a little of heaven and hell in his madness
So perfect his landscapes of conception

So subliminal and yet so perfect was his creation
Evolving in constant motion
An architect to spiritual hosts of the spheres
Floating in us, the dwellers brain cells
Paying our homage to the metallic tongues who are only whispered in metaphors

Paying lip service to the dying Gods
Who take their last grasp in the shelter of their plateaus
We are only machines of the flesh
So be careful with that sickle my friend
For it reaps what is sown

In Cathedrals of Divinity
Shower the moods of many devils
Who are they but the busiest of creatures in a different state of mind
Who is alone but the golden haired Angel
Whose Radiance shines in the Firmaments

As she gazes out the window of Heaven
It's so cold and space less
For darkness shrouds it like a blanket
As sapphires burn and eyes so distant
Conspiring in meaningless decay

At the end the Cauldron awaits us
We quench our thirst
On the soundscapes so surreal
So melodolic yet so melochany
The taste of bitter dregs

*Photo courtesy of Hieronymus Bosh

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