Book of Rampage
Ryan Paich
Book of Rampage
Copyright 2011 Ryan Paich
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Table of Contents
1) Fantastic Distraction
2) Clock Tower
3) A Salute to Those Behind the Curtain
4) Burn
5) Dice
6) Like the Phoenix, Like the Chameleon
7) Hell Wisp
8) Take a Bow
9) Watch Me
10) The Uniform
11) On Guardian Prayer
12) Muse Call
13) Mad Draft
14) Major Giant Definition
15) Flex and Flow (heaven push)
16) His Rhythm
17) Her Rhythm
18) Their Rhythm
19) Gray Girl Shadow
20) Delusional Superstar
21) Split
22) Stasis Breaking
23) Redemption Style
24) Leaver 1
25) Leaver 2
26) Sun Fire Song
27) System Trigger
28) The Game: a Challenge Sense
29) Gamble the Question, Gamble the Odds
30) 5D
Fantastic Distraction
When you chase perfection
closely as you can,
the result is excellence
just below where you shoot.
I chase a fantasy,
a foolish hope,
obsessively and with skill.
I now know
how it feels when
reality becomes a daydream.
In the heart of this fantasy,
its unreachable,
perfect middle,
she also
waits for me and
suffers without me.
Clock Tower
Could’ve sworn I saw the starlight flicker
making the jump to uneven ground
a break in breaths and the space between seconds
Night-stepping over old ideas and burnt bridges
I looked again at the tower with wiser eyes.
The sight was scattered and familiar
like staring into a broken mirror
a version of the past stretched tall.
Once the foundation of arrogant plans,
now a reminder of dreams crashed down
My eyes play tricks.
What did I see and what do I see now?
The night darkened and the Earth shook
or I wasted my time here.
Inside the tower was different
An ancient quality-
time was strange in this place
partly because we wanted it to be,
partly because there was something.
It still stands;
not as high as I remember.
A Salute to Those Behind the Curtain
I know
you’ve got your weight to shoulder
and
memories that destroy
your mind.
It doesn’t stop, does it?
I understand
you see much;
you enable much.
No one sees.
No one knows.
I believe
God sees,
and I salute you
for being behind the curtain.
Your suffering and your triumphs
mean something more there
out of view.
Burn
The light hours can’t compete
not now,
not with the slow, even rhythm of darker times.
Inspiration fuels genius like fire
words playing at the abstract
concepts that dance just beyond human understanding
Open to relate and apply to individual lives
someone else’s creative burst
interpreting gives meaning in listener’s ears
each perception a different, unique reality
What could be untrue?
What if that fire burns so high, it touches the heavens
even for a moment
God trying to tell us something we will barely grasp.
Find this.
Harness the sound, cool rhythm
unleashing your will on the world.
And when the dark fades into day
light draws a balance,
weighing out the inspiration that dwells within the night.
Dice
At certain times
we notice what lies behind things;
coincidences that hint at the divine.
This makes me wonder,
is insanity a burden,
is sorrow?
These states are alternate perceptions
outside the realm of comfort;
eyes that spring open unwanted.
A burden, no.
I once had the honor of being ripped away
from myself.
I saw a fragment of truth -
I am monster or soldier,
bitter enemy or loving friend.
It was damned necessary
for me to know this.
When I believe the eyes are closed
the reality is that
shadows blind them mostly and
conceal them.
There are times when something greater than ourselves beckons;
will we see?
Like the Phoenix, Like the Chameleon
Whoever you are,
how you are,
as you are,
burst forth from death like the phoenix.
You are simply a soul with senses;
turn your perception inward.
Pierce through thick distortion and SEE
search your heart and FEEL
quiet your mind and LISTEN.
What do you find within?
could it be,
your guardian guns or
your fire or
some slow poison?
I know not!
Whatever you find,
how you find,
as you find,
camouflage your light like the chameleon.
Hell Wisp
Years later, and still sensitive to that demon’s growl
We hear it close to madness
cogs of the spirit crunching on one another,
a low hum.
A language we forget; terrifying yet familiar
the roots of our being disturbed after years of comfort
Some understand how to break,
Shifting a high torque mind with their own insanity
They look me in the eye
I see rage
I see too much truth inside them.
To shortcut reality,
grasping at madness for a glimpse of some master plan,
this is sure death.
For us this is death,
Smoking quick since something suicidal sits on our shoulders
More weight to keep us looking down; not ahead.
The demon’s hum still upsets.
Bleeding us while winded already;
the spirit pushes forward.
We create this life.
None can stop our walk toward the sky,
where the Gods reside.
Take a Bow
Though I tread on pitch black pavement
I remember back
to a simpler tim
e
when the people of Earth worshipped the sun and moon
because it was the most obvious thing to do.
Going backward in a simple trick of time
pavement turns to dust
constellations shift
clouds dart like ghosts while the sun moves west to east
across the heavens
Traveling from new to old
Shows low, short-lived kicks of heel to the sky
forward steps toward the past.
No longer the obvious action,
I lower my head for a second
acknowledging all that I don’t understand.
Watch Me
Watch me
as I move around
try to keep up.
A clever deception to try my trust,
but you underestimate
this speed so fast it may seem slow
to you, a master of sneaking low.
Watch me if you dare.
I’ll watch you back
and time may decide the survivor,
old friend of mine
this game I never lose.
Watch me and not my shadows
though they try tricks on eyes.
Patiently in the darkest corner I wait
where seldom sitting I’ll often lie
choosing truth or sleep in daylights gate.
As I move just watch me
before it’s too late.
Your sun falls faint tonight;
soon to discover time is my ally –
don’t panic.
I may be easy to spot
but no one knows.
Watch me as I gaze through you.
Into the light I walk,
or could I be another shadow?
You’ll never know.
Watch me as I go.
The Uniform
A crown of scars rests on my head
from ripping off the horns and
the halo.
Absolutes I cast aside
every night I see clear the gray.
On my shoulders there lies a noose of smoke
tightening; slowly it suffocates
helping me stand tall amidst chaos.
It takes only a glance to notice
the bright armor of apathy strapped to my chest
deceptively hiding my obsession.
My gaze is thrown vertical to make sure
I keep looking at heaven or
hell.
Perceptions I embrace
every night I lose sight of the gray.
On Guardian Prayer
Sharpen me, O cruel tormentor!
Force me to be what I must.
Lead me not toward distraction
and save me from ordinary
keeping my method random.
Decide for me what I won't.
Let me hold faith in you for some insane purpose
I hardly grasp.
May your fire burn perfect toward the heavens
igniting all it touches
destruction that awakens and hell-bends
warriors on their way.
And God help me
should my faith be returned
I would survive the blow
always the fantasy trumps the real.
Stay with me, whispering spirit
bleed me dry if you dare try
I want nothing else.
Muse Call
She has become words
a symbol that rests in mind’s eye,
or some permanent, glorious idea that was never real.
Buried if I like;
present should I call on her to tease me.
She will walk toward me, slowly,
playfully shy and hard to see through the dark.
Then I glimpse those lovely brown eyes.
They set my thoughts ablaze like white fire,
making me weak.
A beautiful and tragic story flashes in her gaze
revealing some divine pattern,
a weave of life’s routes stretching into infinity.
I look aside as the pull becomes too much;
dizzy with want I will her to walk away.
But she doesn’t.
She steps closer to me, her presence crushing.
I fall to my knees with closed eyes
she wipes the tears from my face
I feel a rip in the distance;
she takes something.
Too slowly she walks away.
Without mercy.
Without grace.
Mad Draft
If you catch yourself wondering
about digging graves and mania waves
what matters most is
the control
the impulse.
The embrace,
the rejection.
The world needs madness.
To accept the monsters leash
for the weapons of a soldier
is a sacrifice
done with purpose.
Major Giant Definition
At times,
how truly relieving it must be
to cast aside intangible tactics; not asking
how does one define
making a difference
anyhow?
Let us discuss
maneuvers of the unsuspecting mind.
Notice your heart cackling?
I hear a gleeful shout
at a vile outcome.
You do feel when
the devil laughs.
How about watching the situation unfold
for the worse,
feeling powerless as
your influence does nothing.
I believe
the most disheartening blow
is how you will always want
what you never ought to strive for.
At times,
how truly happy must be
to grow giant sized; always wondering
how to evolve and
how to use your subtle strength
to move the universe.
Flex and Flow (heaven push)
There is no victory you can pull off
no lasting constant through time
able to realign this broken world.
However,
it is possible
to flex
and work your minor miracles
within yourself;
within what you choose.
This helps me realize
there exists a method
to action versus inaction
words versus silence.
Because every choice is still a move;
the flow of the universe
reacts to you.
His Rhythm
A beat pulses in his stride
As his footsteps fall
the ground beneath bends to swinging rhythm.
Walking steady with the noise,
his thoughts add to an easy groove,
building the tension.
The march toward his hell
is forced and deadly.
As he gets closer,
his rhythm must be heavy enough to embrace
the guns of mercy firing through the night;
strong enough to ignore
demons that attempt to counter-inspire.
“I will not fail,” he says to himself.
Then,
he halts at the open gate
satisfied.
Whispers he does not hear tempt him to enter,
his rhythm overwhelming.
Quietly he whispers back,
“No.”
Her Rhythm
Stubbornness swings lightly with her walk
a rhythm is borne of counter-reason,
of why not.
As her footsteps fall,
the beat is accidentally charming;
her spirit builds a simple groove.
The journey toward her heaven
&nb
sp; is foreign yet gentle.
As she treads the easy trail
her rhythm is light enough to ignore
the guns of fury firing through the night;
clever enough to embrace
angels that show the way.
“What awaits me here?” she asks herself.
Then,
she stops at the open gate,
curious.
She hears whispers welcoming her home;
her rhythm unknown to her still.
Quietly she whispers back,
“Yes.”
Their Rhythm
Tragedy and delusion bind them together
forever.
Their rhythm is born of fantasy denied,
of near death.
Their walk toward each other
is too much to grasp.
As they draw near,
their rhythm is perfect madness,
love impossible to bear.
“Do you crave death?” she asks.
“Yes,” he tells her.
“Good,” she says, “you’ll need that too.”
They recall
the gates
and a door off to the side
of a familiar hallway.
“You know I can’t live without you,” he says, “and I must.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
The kiss inside the room
as they understand
what must happen.
Whispers they know too well pull them apart,
their rhythm beautiful.
Quietly they whisper back,
“Soon.”
Gray Girl Shadow
There is so much I want to tell you;
I don’t know your name.
Your story is equally filled with mysterious coincidence
barely allowing you to overcome.
The call was difficult for me also
stress heavy enough to break- forcing change in the soul.
Our crashed dreams led to suicide prayers – not to be answered
though we begged for His divine pardon.
What have you seen?
I would love for you to show me.
Have you got your scar; the empty pull
that replaces something valuable?
Did you hear your hymn when you woke up?
