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.
Tag: Writing
The End
At the end, all is bound, In golden light, For to love death Is to admire life, As both are the same, Which through perfection Must be, United.
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.
Succubi Bride
Of smoke, Which curdles in the light, And mirrors, Who shatter should I look away, Nothing of the Earth Can whip me to a deeper frenzy As your eyes of black, Which ignite with wordless desire My heart that cannot fail, To crave to love, Your form; Metaphysical - a manifested dream, That cradles me… Continue reading Succubi Bride
Magick of Eternity
I sit in silence Or thunder and rain, Pulled there by a desire, Which seeks to manifest, Along paths that few invest. With incense and flame Or daylight and breeze, The power never wains, For as with eternities long gone, We are still with Magick at one With each breath I then pull… Continue reading Magick of Eternity
