The Crying Belfry

As written by Spiel:

O how I despised the crying belfry
Since its uncanny birth
It roots deeper in our minds
Then time- in ancient earth

Inside the belfry lives an apparition, outside the world of men
The Creator’s intent was not a creature, for then it seems pretend
An apparition is much harder for the clever thought to cleanse
To bother us about creation, it must well from deep within

He’s hunched over at the helm, outside the realm of time
Cursed to live inside the belfry and bind the dark side of our mind
O how I despised the crying belfry
And the soul that lived inside
He rang the bell so often, my swollen thoughts would never die
They’d leave the line as birds provoked- and suddenly fill the sky
He’d wait until they perched down
To try their luck at resting some
Then bells and chimes would crash around
They’d flutter up -their schemes undone

At the bottom of the bell’s rope
Our ghost of fable but quite able
For who here can deny- the shrill current down the spine
Even long after a loved one dies
The echo of the belfry and its shadow in the sky
The invisible reminders that fill with tears our longing eyes
Every hour on the hour
He pulled the rope that climbed that tower
As a running man I’d cower
Complacent I would cringe
At the sight of the crying belfry
Or sound of bell on rusted hinge

Hell hopes our thoughts stay bleeding
And don’t heed this cruel remind
The devil is no friend of the apparition
For his thoughts forever pine

Is the apparition fallen angel? No, it’s apparition- nothing less
Phantasmal to the mortal, but still we find respect
For with earnest retrospect
His silhouette does haunt the mind
In this respect I’d just as soon forget
My duty to mankind
If I did not understand that sad regret I’d surely leave behind
Or our debt paid in full, by the master of our minds



As written by Spitz:

It seems a cruel thing, to put such a spin on time
Of ghosts and belfries, and spirits in the sky
Come back down to earth.
Where the sun rises in a second
But not an hour dare goes bye
Without the sun sinking slowly
Glowing behind rolling clouds
Or shining proud in painted sky



Who stares every minute at the moon
We don’t kiss the tide goodbye
We’d just as soon- care about a broom-handle
More than care when it arrives

So if it makes no sense to you
Or drives you insane
Right up a tree
I just hope you don’t mind
That it’s all the same to me-

My crying belfry
Is a frail thing
In respect to relativity.

As written by Mr. Glock:

Correct you are Spitz
Lord knows where the time is going
I do love its relative, unbalanced stride
Without relativity
Time could not freely fly

Or slow down its motion- when a lovely sight walks softly bye
And you meet the emerald green and glowing heat in her eyes
‘Please notice me for one more second’- your whole body seems to cry
But then that precise moment, slowed to a clicking reel
The crude instincts, and the whole scene
It’s time itself you seem to feel

A great inflorescence
Funnels the seconds into minutes
And the minutes into moments
That are measured in breathing
And your whole evening
Floats about –
Like snowflakes and feathers in your head
And you daydream about the clouds
Until enough fluff comes out your ears
To fill a pillow for your bed


But even these heavenly moments, are nothing less than fleeting
The time I find myself in believing in
Is closer to heaven, where you hear the angels singing
Close to where the sun shines, close to where the birds fly
Close to the edge of the cosmos, the last star in His design
High as I could reach, the mere breach of mankind
Close as the ghost that floats to heaven when we die

The time that passes without Him
Is the time that I am fearing
The time I spend with Him, is the poet’s time endearing
Walking with You
I could not fill You’re glory with my praise
It was ‘when I looked away’
Seems the story of my days
But walking with Him
The concern was much refrained
The belfry now seemed timid
The gentle pulsing of a vein
Sounded like the distant whistle
Of unseen rolling trains
In the midst of my abstaining- from the belfry I was feigning
Is the divine part of time- Mr. Spiel here is painting
And the apparition
That inhabits his lines
Is a great deal of superstition
That he tries to hide behind
Though it feels quite real
Atleast, from time to time