On a boring day, my addictions continue, Either taking me to lands-end, Or the minor details in-between, So whilst bound by life, I take the time, To rub wax; A way of preparing, For the sacred ritual, Blessed in oil, And summoned by a spark, That waits within me, Barely contained.
Memories are aflame, Upon a lonely funeral pyre, Where flames lick their lips, And I, with guilt, Grieve, For life has long taken me, From that which I hold dearest, Until my heart, In pity, Relents, Till a sweet song begins to call, And I, blindfolded, May happily go, Back to my life, In death.
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
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
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