I once thought music a joy of life,Whose power has kept us ever fresh,By polishing heavy chains,That we ourselves have laid,And to sweet memories shackled. Rather, it is a key,To a dark place within,That unwilling hands cannot help but turn,Wherein we find hostage youth;To whom we have forbidden death,And through great pain, left to witness,Better… Continue reading The Sound of Life in Masquerade
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Phantasy
I've sat through the years, Who tormented at their leisure, My life I was too proud to end, Until spite came to lure me, And offer ideas of creation, That I alone would hear spoken, Soon after which came a day, Where I would ordain myself - a god: Knowing by heart, conception, Until… Continue reading Phantasy
The Birds Must Pity Us
As I make my song, I find it answered from below, And in peculiar ways I'd like to know, So down through the green and black, I fly, Twixt the shaded realms of time, Where ages have manifest, As strands and fur, Amidst my sweet pine friends, Until at the source I arrive, To find… Continue reading The Birds Must Pity Us
Purple Night
Between day and night, Where life and death approach, Is a realm within the twilight, That suspends all but the perfect, Amidst a purple light, Which is both warm and cold, Knowing equal pain, and delight, For what can begin, Must also end.
Washed Away
The rain returns To serenade me, As I sit amidst a drought, Of life, Whose roots dig desperately To the past, Wherein the scent of perfect days Is returned from desiccation, By simple droplets; Each a looking glass, Into avenues I long to walk again.