Bibliography

  • XXVVIII: Romanticize the Grave (in progress)
  • XXVII: Daemons - 2013
  • XXVI: F r a g m e n t s (part III) The Written Word Is Dead - 2013 (published)
  • XXV: F r a g m e n t s (part II) For the Sense Of God - 2013 (published)
  • XXIV: F r a g m e n t s (part I) F r a g m e n t s - 2013 (published)
  • XXIII: Saints Rose - 2013 (published)
  • XXII: Soul's Haven - 2013
  • XXI: The Paradox - 2013 (published)
  • XX: ICONOGRAPHY - 2012
  • XIX: THE OLD EPITAPH - 2012 (published)
  • XVIII: THE CRYPTIC ALTARS - 2012
  • XVII: Seen Through Different Eyes - 2011 (published)
  • XVI: Cemetery of Garlands - 2011 (published)
  • XV: Lunar Heart - 2010 (published)
  • XIV: PAGES FROM ASHES - 2010 (published)
  • XIII: Little Rabbits - 2009 (published)
  • XI-XII: Shepherd's Gray / Forgiveness in Will - 2009 (published)
  • X: Afterlife - 2008 (published)
  • IX: "From A Melancholy Thoughtfulness" - 2008 (published)
  • VIII: Black Rain - 2007 (published)
  • VII: The Silence Within & Out - 2007
  • VI: Observation - 2006 (published)
  • V: Ethereal - 2006
  • IV: Kingdom - 2006
  • III: The Purpose - 05'-06' (published)
  • II: Follow The Art - 04'-05'
  • I: My Sense Of Compassion - 03'-04'

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Blog dedicated to my 21st work in progress The Pardox

Blog dedicated to my 20th Book Iconography

Blog dedicated to my 19th Book THE OLD EPITAPH

Spoken Word Videos on YouTube

Scarify11: In the Flesh Photo Gallery


Childs Play


I could hear her heartbeat growing inside,
Rising to a movement
She suffers the pain to give a life…

My world is open,
I don't know a thing
A window wide view in the corner from my crib
Of a place not so familiar, but a place that I must live.

My tree was planted and has sprouted out at my birth.
No rings around my bones
No knowledge of things to come.

My youth is just a scar from child's play
What sound do I hear in a dream
Driving in the car far away?
The children they scream in the streets
The sound bleeds out from my scar above my cheek
Taking photographs of motionless time
In remembrance of myself and the way things use to be.

Crying all but in a moment
And never understanding why
Always wondering, but never knowing
That kind of hope will ever be inside…

Did you ever imagine the tree would grow so tall
That you could see it's shadowlike figure in the hall,
Swaying in the breeze across the sun
And matching the sky with whatever weather was yet to come?

I saw it through my window
I saw it but I didn't know
Whether it was you, whether it was me
Nothing can stop us from growing
Count the rings around my tree.

She hasn’t died yet,
The storm of youth has no rain,
So they cut you open,
My sacrifice
And my scar begins to bleed.

Crying all but in a moment
And never understanding why
Always wondering, but never knowing
That kind of hope will ever be inside…

Again.

Alec Wildey - 2007
Black Rain © 2007

"Scratching at the Surface"


The silence without you...

We never did speak

I couldn't break what was real

You never understood what I meant.


Only in the winter could the clouds be so red

Against the blackness of night

Relentlessly holding foolish regrets.

Devastating

How one can change the pace of your life,

This change consumed my will

To ever see the light…


Devastating

How one can feel,

This resistance holding me back from you.

Years and years

Time past the days

Growing inside

Those impossible fears

Relentlessly scratching at the surface

Of scars that wouldn't heal.


Years and years...

I would have wished it all away.

If I would have known what was yet to come,

But instead I asked you to stay.

Voices screamed,

Though I never said a word,

The silence I held within

Kept inside from childhood.


Only in the winter could the skies be so red,

The punishing distance between me and you…

Is my final regret.


Alec Wildey - Jan 2007

The Silence Within & Out © 2007

How things Disappear


It’s time to call it quiets

I'm always putting you off

These times they beg of me to put an end to misery

All this time it rests on my wrists.


My intentions sat in the dark

Two hours past the time

I should have arrived...

No sense in questioning pressure its 1:35.


And here it begins, it starts with a rail

It winds down the bend,

To saddened to leave you,

To emotional to call you my dear friend.


My only hope is that you will catch me

Fading away as the last train out of town

Speeds down the rail through the rain.


I begged for things to seem more real

More clear,

With this ice in my glass, melting

I finally understand how things disappear.


My only hope is that you will catch me

Fading away as the last train out of town

Speeds down the rail through the rain.


I stood on the train and watched the black sky

Until early night,

With this blue sky appearing in front of me,

I finally understand how morning becomes light.


My only hope is that you don't think

Any less of me for leaving,

It's too cold in my chest; it's too cold alone in the dark,

There’s too much pressure in me to except

The love in your heart.


I'm fading.


Alec Wildey – 06’-07’

My personal favourite piece at time of writing.

Observation © 2006

IN THE HAZE OF THE PASSING CRIMSON


I was told it was red.

It was sworn upon

In the haze

Of a troubled soul’s head.


IN THE HAZE OF THE PASSING CRIMSON

Sunday came upon the sky in ruby red,

I learned an important lesson about life

To never cover anything up-

What is real or is meant.


Sundays

Passing crimson with your lipstick on my neck

Sunday is the meaning of life,

It was sworn upon

In the haze

Of a troubled soul’s head.


Don’t you see your makeup on your face

Hides your true beauty?

Why would you want to cover that up?


And as you cry your eye shadow runs down

Mixed with the tears of your eyes

Like clouds;

Why do you punish me?

With your face flushed with embarrassment.


Sunday

Passing smoke from the factory,

Sunday is the meaning of life

It was sworn upon

In the haze

Of a troubled soul’s insanity.


Your beauty lies somewhere within

The passing carmine…

In the haze, it’s unsettling

Crimson was your divine.


It’s so peaceful when the nights are still

Believing every word of my perishing friend’s guilt.

I could watch the entire smoke empty out

Into the world

Giving birth to what appears to be Sunday.

IN THE HAZE OF THE PASSING CRIMSON

I drew the flood

And stared into the horizon…


So when it rains…

It will soon come;

Let it hit you

Don’t hold an umbrella

Let it fall through…

Don’t cover up what is real or what is meant.

Let the rain wash over your skin…


Let it wash the makeup away

Let it rain down


SUNDAY.


Alec Wildey

Ethereal © 2006