"Cries" -- "And the band played on..."

"And the band played on..."
 
Fingers went Aristotle
at the Empty Bottle
when the bass decided
against what chaos provided --
A is A and shall remain
the only note to ever reign.
Used to find peace
in the infinite probable
of the irrational,
where anything's possible,
now grasping
at the logical
for some anagogical
meaning to the decease.
 
Ditching punk chop
to stir the sea
drummer beat 2 over 3,
and sensing changing tides
guitarist does her best, abides
a chugging snarling
12 bar blues howling
high gain growling --
The mourning bassist
can't resist,
steps to the mic
to vomit
delicate as a hit
from a switchblade fist
he plucked a wish
from his wife's wrist.
Guilt weighted tears
fall able to squash --
he whips the mosh
into a sacrifice he'll slay
to wipe the grim away.
.
Lyrically photographic,
4k HD portrait of the tragic;
musically chromatographic
separating all of then
into a palatable blend;
Playing into a moment of Zen
the hostile crowd becomes friend,
though it's just a creative defense
against the capital offense
of pushing a heart towards a blender
any way to quickly end her
crying for hours
for no reason.
Gladly committing
romantic treason
to break from a black hole
only to wake next to a corpse,
and be left with the toll.
 
He can pay for Styx,
and get bricks
to build a hit single,
but may never nix
the horror flicks
starting to comingle
with every thought
it wasn't survivor's guilt
he wanted bought.
 
And the band played on...
 
#

"Cries"

She hides her face
Wearing sheer lace --
I'm not staring at her eyes.
 
I don't dictate the pace
Though it isn't a race
On track to vocalize.
 
Mint fills the space
I chase to trace
Where she'll materialize.
 
Queen of the ace
Mariah I embrace
To know all her cries:
 
The demon, the lemon,
The whore and the cannon,
Scrape of the closest shave;
 
The keening nun,
And crackling sun;
Crows gathered on a grave;
 
Explosive anti-matter,
Blood drip & splatter,
Hyena laughing at a rave.
 
She sings them all
Like a siren's call
Leading to a deadfall.
 
Words won't do,
Yet a portrait is due.
I can't make it true
Using paints lacking the hue.
You need to hear to see
With any guarantee of clarity.