Behold my eye
See what I see
Age is lovely
According to me

Wrinkles like road maps of where i've been
Crow’s feet of joy
And frown lines of sorrow

Spots of warm summers
Long past
Stuck on my face
From the ancient sun
That sets in the West

My voice
Past its time
Telling stories of my prime
When my beauty was clear to see
And people didn't have pity on me

Now that I'm old
And hunched and grey
Look beyond my face
Where my true beauty lay

She was threatened into a stiff silence
Stiff for his hand on her throat and the knife
In her back
Which he pressed her into time and time again
Whispering into her that 'pain and love are equals
And beauty is a byproduct of anti-societal laws'
His anarchy was fed by submission
As if she had a choice with the
Pistol at her head and the sweet,
Honeysuckle words he traced along her body
She was threatened by someone who knew
Her way too well; or moreover -
Knew the she way she was, and loved her for it;
Inflicting pain because he needed to
Because her No's were lost in hours of moans
Had she not been gagged
She would have cried for help
But crying had no way of helping her
When he came around

Hit me
Hard
And fast
Follow through, I'm counting on this
I need a bruise; a bruise from you; a bruise that will
Penetrate deep into my body
Into my muscles that lack real feeling
I need a bruise that hurts
And then more and more
Until my skin is nothing more
Than a manifestation of the pain I feel in my chest
Because that pain isn't real, it's empty
Inside the echoing cavity of my chest
Slice me open and you'll see the place
My heart was, years ago, before my love stole it
Now I'm left with my hollowness
Coupled with a wish that he could love me
The way I had loved him
Now I'm left with replacements
So, replacement, do you think you can do for me
What I need you to?
Have your way,
Just be sure to hurt me

The last specks of snow on the
Fields disappeared with the parting
Of the clouds.

Now blue, the skies smile
Upon everything.
I spoke to a friend today.

The birds keep picking at the
Sunflower seeds I put out by
My window.

I spoke to a friend today.
Now my windows are eyes to my
Soul as I watch mud and dead

Grass kiss the sun back with nothing
But themselves. This spring, as every.
We are not beautiful yet.

But we love you for making us
That; green and alive. Spring is
Spring to everything.

Spring to everything, and not only  
The words of my friend's
Linger, but the feeling does too; that

When all is as beautiful as this,
I'm not the only one
Seeing it.

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.