Comments about Dwain Joseph
The Death Of Melody
Think around the verses sung,
The chorus screams loudest.
Shrill cries of agony that drip,
crimson blood, a wrecked soul,
in A minor, tortured lyrics
that dance deadly rituals.
An art that demands a pure slavery,
Remember the compelling whispers,
a prelude to melodious captivity.
Its tone scrapes the ends of sanity,
desperate to touch the heights of perfection,
Each time stumbling,
Into shadowed shackles, chained to disappointment.
White tears stain the page,
distorting sense, spilling untold secrets,
that bellow ...