In Memory Of…
Road Scribes Of America ™ Honorary Member For Lifetime Achievement
Chris “Knucklehead” Webb
Inducted on June 9th, 2012
With Matt Barlow of Iced Earth
Christopher Webb Respectfully known to his Brothers and Sisters as “Knucklehead Webb” was born with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy and recently passed away at the age of 47. Chris was Inducted into the Road Scribes Of America ™ Literary Fellowship on June 9th 2012 as an Honorary Member For Lifetime Achievement.. for his Talent, his Passion, his zest for living life and not giving up, for fighting against the odds presented and playing the cards he had been dealt. Chris “Knucklehead” Webb lived hard, played hard, and fought hard. RIP our Brother..
© Chris Webb
The inky curtain of night descends as the chanting mob awaits.
Clad in leather and denim they stand in line. Their black logo
emblazoned t-shirts worn with the pride of a soldier’s battle
standard. The gates open at long last like the gaping maw of a
hungry beast. The arena quickly becomes a writhing sea of
humanity, the masses drawn in like moths to an irresistible flame.
Background music spills forth, mingling with incessant
chattering and the occasional piercing whistle or shout.
Plunged into darkness, the multitude roars with the power of a
tsunami. The first power chord is struck, sending the crowd into
a frenzy of excitement. The thundering of drums and the
throbbing of the bass mix with the wailing of guitars, assaulting
the press of raging fans in a flood of sonic sound waves. Fists
pump in the air and heads bang in unison. Hands held high flash
the devil horns as they raise their voices in one massive choir.
Like a swirling whirlpool, the mosh pit forms. Limbs flail and
bodies collide in this primal animalistic ritual that leave some
bloodied and bruised. Lights, a myriad of hues pierce the smokey
dimness, sweeping back and forth like the beacon of a lighthouse
on a foggy night. The blinding burst of strobes sets all into slow
motion. The encore comes to a climactic end with drums rumbling
and cymbals crashing. A final power chord is struck, marking the
end to the frenetic performance. Soaked in sweat with throats raw
and ears ringing, the legion of the loyal depart.
Spirit Of The Biker
© Chris Webb
His old visage is weathered from his years out on the open road. He
has seen much throughout his many years and his sparkling eyes
show great wisdom. Rain, sleet, snow, wind, heat and cold, he has
endured it all. Standing before his sleeping Harley, he gazes out
across the vast lonely desert plains that surround him. A broad
smile of contentment touches his lips. This has been his home for
decades and he never grows weary of the majestic landscape.
Running his fingers through his long mass of white hair, he mounts
his faithful steed with practiced ease. Inserting a well-worn key into
the ignition, he awakens his steel horse with a low rumble. The road
ahead twists and turns like an asphalt snake as it stretches to the
horizon. Wheels of hot rubber and gleaming chrome eat up the miles
like a ravenous beast. The wind buffets him as he rides, whipping his
hair about wildly. His destination is unknown until he reaches it.
Outside My Window
© Chris Webb
Outside my window clouds drift lazily across the gray cold sky. These clouds they anger me for they obscure the joyful sun that brightens my day, giving me feelings of peace and contentment. When my friend the sun is hidden away by those dark invaders of the sky my day is like the swirling mist of a long lost dream. I worry not about my friend the sun, though he cannot be seen I know he is still watching over me and the rest of the world. I long for morrow so I might see my friend.
© Chris Webb
The rain beats upon the roof making a peaceful sort of music that soothes my soul. As the rain’s sweet song drifts through my mind, thoughts of being in a green paradise enter my dreams. While the steady rhythm of the rain’s song continues, I slip deeper ever deeper into my green paradise. I see lush green meadows and beautiful trees in their full splendor. I smell the fragrance of many flowers as it floats on the warm summer breeze. In the distance, I hear the sound of water gently flowing over rocks. I follow the water’s happy sound. As I approach, the sound gets louder. I now stand before a crystal clear waterfall. Looking up I see the sun’s rays making a rainbow from the mist of the waterfall. This place of such beauty brings me a feeling of great exhilaration. I wish that I could stay in my lush green paradise, but when the rain’s melodic song ends, my paradise fades and I wake to find the rain has ended and night has fallen. When the rain returns, so will my paradise.
© Chris Webb
The sun slowly fades into twilight, which gives way to the night. As night enshrouds the countryside, the creatures of the dark wake from their daytime slumber. Crickets and other musical insects begin performing their nocturnal symphony. In the fields, fireflies light up the night with a dazzling display. Owls and bats flutter aimlessly about in search of food. Out of the distance, the calls of animals float on the cool breeze like the long lost souls of spirits who have not realized that they have been separated from their former existence. In the sky, the stars twinkle like diamonds on a black velvet pillow. The moon illuminates the countryside, giving an eerie appearance to those who might be taking up a night time walk. As dawn approaches, this nightly scene begins to slowly vanish as if it had never existed.
© Chris Webb
As she was walking along the beach, I noticed how beautiful she was. Her long black hair flowed in the gentle summer breeze. Her brown almond shaped eyes glittered in the soft white moonlight. Her jet-black dress gently hugged her soft silky skin. Her feet slide across the fine power like sand. She wore rings of precious stones that glowed like the eyes of an ominous beast. After she passed me, I turned to watch her disappear into the distance.
© Chris Webb
My mother is a woman of strength and love. Once in a while she must question the Lord why life is so hard. The Lord may not answer, but he keeps her going. Hopeful is my mother when things get bad. Every time I see my mother, I realize how fortunate I am. Remarkable is the only word I can use to describe my mother.
The City Streets
© Chris Webb
The city streets breathe with a life of their own. The city streets have an untold story to tell if you just look and listen. The city streets cry out for help, but the pleas fall on the deaf ears or society. People turn their backs on the homeless, junkies and mentally ill that live a never-ending battle on the cold harsh city streets. Guns and drugs are bought and sold like candy. Hatred and prejudice run rampant like a deadly virus. On the city streets human life is snuffed out as easy as a candle’s flame and as carefree. Blood is spilled like the water we waste. I hope we survive to see the day when people live like brothers and sisters. Where love conquers all. Where the city streets are bright and full of joy.
The Love Of My Life
© Chris Webb
The love of my life has been found. Her love for me shows no bounds. Many speak of love as fleeting. I know love is eternal. In the darkest of nights, her love shines like the brightest star. In the cold of winter, her love warms my heart. In my mind, the sound of her voice beckons to me like the Sirens of ancient lore. Being away from my love fills my soul with despair. When we are together, the void I feel when we are parted quickly dissipates like the early morning mist that blankets the land. Her love is as sweet as the butterfly’s treasured nectar. Her beauty surpasses that of the rose or wild orchid. The love of my life has been found and never to be lost.
© Chris Webb
You mean the world to me. You are the light in my darkness. When I am feeling sad, I think of you and joy fills my heart. Your love is as pure as the fallen snow. I would give away all my possessions to be with you. When I think of being with you, I think of candle lit dinners, an evening by the fireplace and walks along the beach in the moonlight and during sunsets. My love for you burns like a million candles. Without you, my life is meaningless. I feel incredible happiness when we are together. I love the sound of your laughter and the sight of your sparkling eyes and cheerful smile. You are so passionate and full of determination. Your spirit and will to not give up amazes me. I can’t say how much I love you as there are no words to describe my love for you. I want you to know no one will ever take you from me. You are my love and nobody could ever change that.
© Chris Webb
I walk in the midnight sun. On and on I shamble like a mindless zombie. I see my past before me like a haunting nightmare. I laugh like a madman. Is my past real? Is my past an illusion? I see death everywhere I look. The dead rise and curse my existance. Their icy glares pierce me to the bone with numbness. My mind is paralyzed. I still walk on. My legs grow weary. I sleep as I walk through this nightmarish world. I search for a way out. No doors, no windows. NO WAY OUT! I feel the terror overcome me. It pulls me down into the watery depths of insanity. Where am I? Why am I here? Why have I been forsaken? They tell me to open my heart to Christ. I tell them I am the Anti-Christ. I dance in the full moonlight like a demon. Satan is reality or is he? Why won’t you hear me? You listen, but you don’t hear me. I watch the flames of my hatred consume you. I’m free at last. This life is a dream. I will soon wake and all will be fine. I try to break free of my mortal shell so my spirit may soar free. I am bound to purgetory by some unrelenting force. What is this force? I search the dark recesses of my mind for the answer. The answer is so clear. I am the answer. I look deeper into my mind. I see my emotions caught up in a whirlwind of confusion. The whirlwind stops and my emotions fall to the floor and shatter. I stare in horror at the mess of mixed emotions. I slump to the ground in despair. My emotions are an unsolveable puzzle. I try to put the pieces together, but none of them fit. Now I am truly lost. There is a light in the distance. I slowly stand. I start to walk towards the light. Can it be? Is this the way out? I see a figure in the blinding light. She beckons me to come closer. I hesitate. Is this another trick or is it my way to salvation? I approach her slowly. She is not what she once was. She has changed somehow, but I do not yet know how. I see her point at me and laugh. Her laughter resounds in my brain. The pain is unbearable. I fight back with unbridled fury and vengeance. NO MORE WILL YOU HURT ME! In an earth-shattering crack of thunder, she explodes into nothingness. I have won. I have regained all I have lost. I am reborn to live in peace and harmony. The midnight sun sets and I hold my emotions up proudly. I have obtained control over them once again.
© Chris Webb
Living in darkness. Dreading the sun. Feeding off the weak and unsuspecting. The taste of blood brings you to orgasm. Damned for eternity. Shunned by society. Your tormented soul cries for release. The love you lost long ago still fresh in your mind. Full of passion and lust, yearning for a young woman’s touch. You curse God who has forsaken you to such an existence. Longing to love again, you seek out the pleasures of the flesh. Who would love such a loathsome creature as you? You search the world for one who will love you. On the mist shrouded streets you walk. Loneliness consumes you like a raging fire. You scream in anguish, but no one hears you. You want to kill yourself so you can be laid to rest at long last. You spot a woman of such beauty. You approach her. She greets you with a warm smile. You bring our to your home in hopes of partaking of her lifes blood. Your spell is cast, she is helpless, you bear your fangs. Her soft white neck is just inches away. You move in to bite her, but something stops you. You cry and the tears flow like a river. To be mortal is a distant dream. She awakens from your spell. She hears you softly whimpering and comforts you. You turn to her with bared fangs. A look of terror mixed with compassion fills her sparkling eyes. She knows you are a Nosferatu, yet she does not flee. Just one bite and you will have eternal love. She pleads to be like you, but you refuse. You cannot curse another to a lonely existence full of emptiness. Five hundred years you have seen. You tell her of kings and queens poets and philosophers. You hand her a sharpened stake you have carried for so long. You beg her to end your existence of misery. Tears of pity streak her radiant visage. She knows it must be done, but she has not the strength. You scream for her to send you into death’s waiting arms. She stands behind you, wooden stake in hand. The blow you have waited for comes at long last. The pain courses through your dead yet living body. She sobs like a little child. You fall to your knees and thank her. You draw your last breath and depart the world of misery. Golden rays of sun filter through the window as your soul is released. You are no longer Nosferatu. You have been at long last laid to rest.
© Chris Webb
White silk curtains blowing in the cold wind from an open window. The floor covered in a heavy swirling ghost-like mist. Upon the bed she lies in death’s perpetual slumber. Thunder peals in the distance. Lightning flashes showing her pale rigid flesh. The stench of death hangs in the air. The silk sheets of her bed have been soaked crimson. The ghastly deed done in days past now discovered. Even in death her beauty is unmistakable. Another victim in his mindless rampage. He harvests the souls for a higher purpose. He sits in his shrine of death. The walls are covered with pictures of pale faces. He knows how vile his deeds are yet he cannot stop. He pleads for salvation, but it does not come. Suicide is beyond his grasp. He has tried to end his butchering, but could not do it. His wife does not know the danger that awaits her. He awaits the clock to strike midnight. He enters his house with the stealth of a panther. He slowly creeps up the stairs and enters the bedroom. How lovely she looks as the moonbeams fall over her. His heart pounds in his head. Adrealine pumps through his body. He is at the bed. He raises the instrument of death. He fights back this unholy urge to kill. He sits on the bed and strokes her golden hair. She wakes and sees the knife clenched in his trembling hand. “My love, what is this blade for?” she asks in a soft whisper. “It is to take your soul from you” he says maniacally. She runs for the door, but he quickly jumps in front of her. His face is contorted in a devil’s visage. She knows he has killed before. She screams as he tackles her to the floor. She begs him to stop. His face becomes soft and gentle. She begs him to stop. He stands and is as unmoving as a statue. She talks soothingly to him as she makes for the door. His entire body begins to shake. She bolts down the stairs just as he springs from the bedroom. He bounds down the stairs after her. She is at the door and he is close at hand. She frantically twists the doorknob and yanks the door open. As the door is flung open, an iron-strong hand grips her arm. She shrieks as she is pulled back. Suddenly, the silence of the night is pierced with sirens. He lets her loose and sprints up the stairs. Screeching brakes and openining car doors echo out. The sound of cocking shotguns and shouting voices is surreal. Upon the roof a dark figure is creeping. In a brilliant flash, he is engulfed in light. “Freeze!” scream many voices, but he heeds them not. He climbs down from his perch. “Freeze!” come the voices again. He walks towards his wife. She cries “Please stop!”, but he continues. Shots ring out and strike him in a spray of blood. He falls to the hard cold street. He will kill no more. His death wish has at long last been fulfilled.
Love After Death
© Chris Webb
Two long lost lovers sit on the beach watching the sun set. Their transparent hands are clasped together in a display of affection. Their lives were taken by the cruel harsh sea. Their souls linger among the land of the living. They know not that they have passed on. For eternity they will meet at the place Cupid’s arrow struck them. The sun’s golden rays sparkle on the gently churning ocean. The sky turns a deep crimson then blazing orange, which slowly fades into a dark purple. Soon the black curtain of night falls. The stars twinkle like diamonds on a plush velvet cushion. The moon reaches its zenith, casting its pale glow over the now turbulant ocean. The lovers stand and embrace one another. Their lips come together in a tender kiss. Even in death, their love lives on. Love so strong that nothing else matters. Hand in hand they walk along the beach. Soon they melt into the shadows of night.
The Black Rose That Bleeds
In the center of the darkened room
Upon a little round table of mahogany
With spindly legs like that of a spider
Stands a sparkling crystal vase
Resting in this crystal vase
Is a solitary black rose
The black rose that bleeds
Why it bleeds only I know
The black rose is my soul
And the drops of blood shed
Come from wounds inflicted
© Chris “Knucklehead” Webb
Road Scribes Of America ™