Monster by Happy Parrot

STRANDED IN MY, OWN HOME

Chosen Destiny never walks alone, peace sleeps forever in her blessed home

Terror suddenly comes

Beast wrestles with his prey

some crooked words will give meaning to this sleepy, vagabond day

Sudden Comfort slowly talks into the wounded heart of mesmerized decay

unknown children’s voices willingly start to play

An old lady greets her newborn day

drunk man has left the sanctuary of his hay

Open Fist Breaks the final door

screaming altitude steals the smiling, repeating floor

life giver silently paints his vain, oddly looking decor

love and breathtaking absolutism drained in an embarrassing salvo of esoteric pheromones

On old, now-forgotten shores

castaway lore yearns for more

Evrything feels out of place and uncomfortably sore

Can our love be undone?

when the last tear is finally dead and gone

Can a free man become a slave walking in the desert completely alone?

Am I a stranded magnetic vessel, a ragged wanderer without a proper home

is my destiny to walk forever alone

Am I truly a creature born without a home?

Night will tell

unbroken will, stand or yell

pointing Moonspell, will my mission end well?

Stranded lover begs under the river of intoxicated inhuman spell

The lonely prisoner is haunted inside his glorious cell

wondering, he asks what story is left to tell.

Can our love be undone?

when the last tear is finally dead and gone

Can I become a slave walking in the desert by myself, completely alone?

Am I a stranded vessel without a proper home

every step I make

sends me into the arms of another untold mistake

every old and forgettable bone

sings now without an exact, well-measured tone

Rainbow looks so distant and its existence haunts me alone

Am I a stranded vessel without a proper home?

Night will tell

unbroken will, stand or yell

Stranded lover under inhuman spell

prisoner haunted inside his glorious cell

Fragile mind

sign, give the rest to the old, deluded shrine

Put the dot on the prescribed line

Maybe then your heart will start to shine

Have you touched the Sea of divine

have you drunk, the potion that is ferociously alkaline?

have you lost your sword, without a given word?

have you misplaced your strong spine?

Has the cold tongue of long winter

turned your love into the most sober vine?

Perfect Rainbow looks so distant and its existence haunts me alone

Am I a stranded ghost vessel, a lost stranger without a proper home?

Accusing Night will tell

unbroken will, stand or yell

wisdom, guide me well!

Stary Paradise or burning lights of one-eyed glitching Hell

Stranded lover under inhuman spell

prisoner haunted inside his glorious cell

will this story end

well?

Is exalted life just another dormant spell

why can young birds never tell

oyster shed her skin, wisdom has left its shell

godly nectar, filled with dark voices from unpractical Hell

another late tragedy is begging to sell

misplaced theatrical Moonspell

Fresh trouble howls at the open gates of another self-operating Hell

Accusing Night will tell

unbroken will, stand or yell

Liberating Paradise or Burning Hell

Stranded lover under inhuman spell

conscious prisoner haunted inside his glorious cell

will this story end

well?

Will this battle ever end

can this story end without one more sainted life,

that has been forever unnecessarily spent?

Poorman is relentlessly begging for his cursed cent

reality has hardened into wandering, illusionary cement

every step is another bridge blown up to his, own unnamed detriment

strange times are moving together with blazing and vulgar accent

Young Warriors will defend

Old souls will finally ascend…

Accusing Night will tell

unbroken will, stand or yell

wisdom, guide me now…more than well

Liberating Paradise burns now in the most precious Hell

Stranded lover laughs under inhuman spell

Conscious prisoner is haunted inside his glorious cell

will this story ever end?

what else must be spent, Occam’s razor and supernatural dent

Can a dormant voice reach the footsteps of a bottomless well?

Will this cosmic battle ever end

where is the voice of reason, that is freely given, godsent

Can this final story end without one more sainted life,

that has been forever unnecessarily spent?

Monster

The fresh night air pulsed with a strange, almost enticing substance. His sense of sight was still predominantly blurred, the bright lights manically piercing through the dark, threatening forest, hysterically searching for something resembling a human shape—a silhouette that should not exist with us in this material composition we too often rigidly and casually call the world. An enigma, with an exterior resembling what you would call a human form, quietly controlled its breathing rhythm and heartbeat to avoid revealing its position.

His head was heavy, a gloomy swarm of heavy thoughts briefly occupied his brain, covering his superhuman intellect with a black veil full of pain and a deafening tone that stealthily wandered the dark forest, searching for what does not exist in human minds.

What often hides like immature childish dreams in a creaky night closet.

It doesn’t bark, it doesn’t growl, it just creates unsettling sounds that fill the peaceful and calm children’s night with waves of unpleasant insomnia, filling it with sweat and a wave of frustration that sometimes lasts long into the night until these extremely fragile little beings succumb to exhaustion, and the night terror turns into a new day’s light with the passing of time.

And the traumatic story that lurked all night becomes just an extreme part of a child’s imagination, which every parent usually resolves almost automatically with intuitive sharpness during breakfast time, saying, “You know monsters don’t exist, especially not the ones lurking in children’s closets.”

Many times, both parents just laugh sweetly while eagerly chasing after the almost magnetically attached matter, the abstract influx, which turns their often very fake lives into something bearable… money.

Money—”the jealous father of all evils,” always a thirsty succubus, the executioner of modern life, the omnipresent prototype of the downfall of human morals, and the dark angel, the silent companion of many human, easily discarded destinies.

The sound of blue-gray helicopters still terrorized the night sky, and the penetrating beams of extremely strong, very unpleasant light still silently searched for the mysterious figure that had escaped into the cover of the dark, almost eerie forest with supernatural speed.

As time passed, it became clear that these threatening-looking flying machines were only circling the dark forest, hoping that what was monstrous in their eyes would make a mistake and come out of its dark shelter.

None of those searching the terrain were willing to descend into that pit of enchanted wooden gloom, their fear was too strong, and their thoughts too heavy to carry out what they had been ordered.

At the same moment, the strength that had briefly faded in his limbs slowly began to pulse within him, feeding him with new energy that seemed to be a gift from this ancient forest… a few seconds passed, and our hero was himself again.

From the thick forest bushes, out of nowhere appeared a bear’s snout, and then the bear’s massive body. The strange creature of enormous proportions did not make the slightest sound. In front of our not-so-surprised protagonist, it placed a pile of forest berries, moving its huge head up and down and pointing with its paw of enticing proportions to the unexpected forest gift.

“Thank you, guardian of the forest, thank you from the heart.”

The benevolent Bear, who had unexpectedly joined this intriguing night “party,” nodded its head and gently headed behind the dark green curtain until it almost completely disappeared into the dark night.

A monster, today with the advent of organized religion, has become a monster by the diktat of those who know better, without question.

Many of those devoted believers do not suspect that the real monster sleeps in their bosoms, mercilessly feeding them with a perverse infusion full of grotesque illusions so that this silent creature, of extremely dark heart, can maintain a steel grip over their collective consciousness and vibrational energy, a tremendous potential which you humans simply call—souls.

All religions from the day of their conception are cursed and too often lead from one madness to an even worse madness, of course, accompanied by the tireless applause of sold-out institutions you call media.

A medium is one who sees and protects people from various evils, natural disasters, asking nothing in return because it is his gift from God, which he must unquestionably pass on.

Today, the term called media is a simplified poisoned lie heartlessly served in the form of a cross of salvation or a refreshing golden cup full of rigorous ignorance, which too often is easily drunk and served with a cornucopia of poisonous mushrooms that silently devour what is left of human energy or souls as you call them.

All of us who disagree with this ruthless exploitation of human light, with this short-sighted misanthropic dogma, become monsters for which there is no more home in this new brave world.

Many would cynically and hastily say, “Why do you care?”

Well, I care; that care has always been in my heart, even when their minds are clouded with uncontrolled hatred and foolish heads filled with the horrors only war provides.

I care; that is how I am built, that is my nature… and sometimes things and beings are not what they seem at first glance, too often an unassuming book with worn-out covers hides a sea of unforeseen information, while a book with bright, enticing colors and perfectly bound covers offers intellectual and spiritual barrenness.

In them lies a bright blue sea full of untouched potential that has almost never been fully unleashed, and in that lies my inexhaustible source of empathy towards these human beings.

Moreover, I am bound by the power of the golden rule: to never do to others what I do not want done to me.

The forest’s fresh air unintentionally awakened in me a sob of an old, never-forgotten longing, instantly teleporting me to a time when these sacred, ancient woods were places where the forces of mystery, known and unknown worlds intersected with a man who had not yet strayed into spiritual darkness like today’s “modern” man.

In a slightly different form, I often walked these clearings, listening to the whisper of crystal clear, cold green water and the murmuring, sometimes even the occasional juicy quarrel of the majestic trees adorned with century-old canopies as they lamented about times even more ancient and beings that were no longer there.

In those days, I would often return lost human children, frightened and crying, to their homes, teaching them the importance of navigating this sometimes very dark greenery whose tall green canopies seemed to touch the blue sky in their little eyes.

Sometimes I walked through this magnificent forest dressed in white, and sometimes in black, not due to any stigmatic duality but because it was my personal choice…

When you are tired of the smell of war, the metallic sound of blood-soaked shiny blades, the excitement, and youthful fervor burning like a thousand suns before the battle itself, the ancient forest and its shy inhabitants become a uniquely calming place for someone like me, where rarely anyone can disturb you.

This green palace becomes your untested peace, and youthful, often impulsive haste slowly gives way to a bit wiser, more mature age.

The world has changed beyond recognition in just 150 years; everything you once could see with your own eyes is now part of some long-written legend, a dusty dubious myth, or just an unfortunate story left by old, senile minds.

Dwarves, elves, fairies, and other once undeniable beings today silently adorn human gardens, observing the spiritual wandering of the hurried and modernized human being without a single word, mute and petrified.

Good and evil have always been there, an undeniable, irrefutable fact, but the world that modern man shaped with the biased help of dark, ever-jealous shadows and built around himself resembled a well-fenced, sterile petri dish rather than something that would evoke a sense of boundless freedom and continuous admiration in the unconquered soul.

After a hundred years had passed, I decided to return to the so-called embrace of newly built human civilization.

The first nights were torturous, full of sounds that perhaps wouldn’t have been there just twenty years ago, the city’s hum as if, with a uniform unit of mysterious force, devoured itself and its captivated inhabitants, who now slowly sank into a dark, amoral abyss set by the illusory builders who patiently watched and orchestrated their godless deeds, lurking with greedy eyes from the darkest shadows.

I was there when horse-drawn carriages turned into the noisy echo of loud automobiles, I was there when the quiet zeppelin, almost an untouched ruler of the blue sky of that time, was replaced by the first modern airplane. The technology that multiplied every ten years was a new thrilling feature that would finally bring humanity peace and a deserved throne among the old gods.

But the opposite happened: the closer they were to technological nirvana, the further they became from their organic existence.

As the years paid tribute to the unstoppable wind of time, the technological superiority that promised so much began to show its dark outlines and the possible human path into an extremely, darkly illuminated downfall.

I wasn’t thrilled, but over time you get used to an impossible existence and slowly forget your purpose here while the city’s relentless hustle gradually eats away at the cynical rhythm of time, and with quiet notes, tears apart the last sounds of humanity around you.

You forget who you are for a brief moment and suddenly wake up in the early hours of 2016, a year when reality was once again transformed into something familiar, something too dark to be easily ignored.

Old evil was back and I silently decided to become what they feared so much, a living monster, but I wasn’t sure ..yet.

The only problem I have now is when I embrace my dark side the world that i inhabit will with me go into dark, and too many innocent people will die, but the question that truly bothers me with time is the following…

Do I have the pleasure of a choice?

If they want the monster, maybe,maybe… my destiny here is to be the best monster I can be.

These military helicopters and the unspeakable evil flying in them I could easily bring them down, but I wanted to visit my place of tranquility, to think again…am I, really the terrible monster they are looking for?

Yes, my darkness,my old trustworthy companion I never liked your impossible depts, but you were always there, haunting me, waiting for me to become soft, irrational almost human alike.

I never ran away from those dark soulless beings, I ran away from my dark past, from myself,from my given promises.

What if there is a being that can kill these vicious creatures, merciless abominations that diabolicaly drain people’s life juices with one well-aimed dark curse, but the downside of this equation is that it must also take so many human lives…many are forgetting one fact, not all people are born good, but many have the opportunity to become good even if they are surrounded by total darkness.

This is the main difference between so called energy vampires and human beings.

I never doubted whether it could be done; I know it can be done. But what is the deviant price beyond the red shimmering horizon that cannot yet be clearly seen?

Can you do it, can you be so monstrous… can you come back from that vile, dark act?

Or this terrible, already undeniable darkness will become your only trusty friend, and the indescribable dark and empty road even darker and emptier.

Am i damned together, here with this foul ,hartless creatures that are roaming and pilaging human minds and hearts for milenia or my most holiest apsolution lies in their demise given and spoken directly from my own lips.

You would be suprised what liberty slavic language gives to the master of dark curses…All other languanges pale in comparison with what is possible to engineer or muster in Slavic language.

Have i decided,only time will tell,it always does.

The scrutiny this little thing, we call time waits for no man,but many times the same rules are applied even to God.

The End.