It's been a while
Since I've sat down for this long
Just to write
All the words I can write

They call it a stream of consciousness
But I call it a stream of truth
It's a stream to remember
As it glosses over your skin

Maybe this truth
Will stick around
A bit longer than the sunlight
A bit longer than the nightlight

I don't want my writing to go away
I don't want my writing to be forgotten
I want my writing to stay
I want it to be remembered

A writer only ever wants to stay
That is the mark of a great writer
It's not that hard, to write for a long time
It's pretty hard, for that long time of work to stick around

But don't worry
It's just a stream of consciousness
It's not a hard thing to do
So we will just keep typing and praying for hamlet
To come rolling off our fingers

Holding long to longing,
longing, holed to holding,

I ode my tale for bold forboding.

Swiftly shores sung,
ripping, reaping, revealing

I stopped just short of saint-like stealing.

Madly minutes mumbled,
syllables stuck, syrup

My thoughts no longer mine to stir up.

Thorefin,
Therifen,
Theraphin,
Raven Angel.
I do not expect
you to undestand.

I am he.
He is me.
She are we.
We are thee,
And there are more.
I do not think
This is something
Ordinary men conceive.

All the paintings of darkness
Are not to impress upon the critics
The level of my shallow depth,
Nor are my phrasings for the sake of vanity.

It is the darkness that gives lessons to the light, of things that I am not afraid to learn.

Like a papillon in a  season of change,
I am transformed into a dark lamp,
For I  have stood in many shadows.

I have soaked up the knowledge.

In my shadow,
Illumination awaits.