This mixture of feeling
Has me wishing of a better day
To take account of the storm raging.
How can I continue?
How could I not, when the mistakes
And bravery
And thoughtlessness of it all
Continue to rot this mess of things
The message rings
I listen unafraid.
And I am paralyzed.

How fair was it to blue the steel
clarity could have won.
if not for Celsius's involvement?
Fahrenheit would brighten her blade, yet subtle the temper of rash and shade.
A time of second guessing to absolve the fatal ring, I time the wager to the crashing of stones assembled once again to hold
your hammer.
Their unnatural order,
yet cannot reclaim the zeal.
We talk and whisper in sorrow and/or regret, the passing of beauty astonished, fallen,
before the plummet of regret.

The absence of the leap
Repeats whn I fall asleep.

Once upon a time
In war & love divine
The crippled lust for power became
The highest pursuit of knowledge.
The peoples of the realm sauntered
Around the miles of nature
A shamed of that which gave them laughter
Yet continued all the same.
The poison they drank willingly
The toxin they appraised
The hope of the forsaken
Of which they had became.
A hero stood no chance
A villian shook hands with strangers
Both had no idea of
The measures brokered between them.
The lived to each their morals
One of righteous
One of pleasure
In this fabled land of venture
Neither could die in peace.
One had the truth, but both had the reason
To bring about the anarchy
We now expect this season.

This cycle of intruige and disillusion
How it bends to circumstance
And premonitions.
Trusting guts convey temperament
While eyes analyze the sway.
How then will you decide the fate of man
In the gaze of dream swept eyes.
Will you fall
Will you drown
Will you will yourself into motion before the crows have nostalgia over that which disposed the ill endowed
My favorite writer
A time will come to pass when my regrets
Become my most valued treaZers.
I hope you're there for that.

Hands for anathema
and whatever else happens to fall
from the sky in your mouths.

Mountains, valleys, fountains,
stanzas slung in alleyways
outside the houses of our youth.

As loud as the views.

As bright as an empty noose.

We were here before, remember?

I can turn a bright morning
into a nightmare as good as any.

it doesnt mean i want to.

so every moment not alone
is "too many cooks" to me.

it doesnt mean i want that either.

My mind has frayed once again.
Single strands of whispered fate coaxed into softend place. They mingle respectful to their own reputations whilst seeking was to divert the eyes of equals to rise out of hidden pockets the tithes demanded from greed laden eyes.
As if they considered them souls worth knowing. Malfuctioning components running for amusement & money.
Though we know, and they know we know, yet pretend otherwise. Penchants demand this and so it is strictly kept. Whether beautiful or unkempt they laugh with desolate eyes laden wide and dry as deserts from looking past their shoulder.
Funny when the knife impales the ******* from the front.
While others wash these truths down like water of a ducks back, or clerics with poultergeists. Acknowledge the accomplishments and laugh in face of laudy profiteers, never knowing if the love of dear family and ***** diggers is clearly to be estableshed as the status quo.
It seems they gained the world and created hell, but we see the hell they made is all their own.