Let us sail, hand in hand, off this cliff towards the endless azure
The fresh air, a soft caress, lifts us up towards that circled warmth
I see your light, brighter than the torch above, shines not for me.

If I was an angel
I'd put you in a warm embrace.
My wings will be your shield,
your raincoat,
your cooling breeze,
your warming blanket in a cold winter's night.
But I'm not an angel.
But I'm yours.

It should be dark.

Ethereality is brought upon by shadows
Comforting shades that beautifully waylay prancing lights
permeating mysticism to arouse the blandest of hearts.
Clustered crowns of effervescent greens scraped the sky
Their lithe fingers clasped, uneasy to divulge light
yet they do so for their trunkless kin at their feet

There should be music.

At dusk the chiming of army throats moan
the deep humming legato of elastic croak to their content
rich baritones with an orchestral blend of alluring notes.
Exoskeletal feet, an angels' choir too quick to play
Their voices, violins in concerto with hissing air
that slither in between the crevices of trees for beauty to play

I should be afraid.

A tiny mouse that shifts beneath dry leaves should scare
Rustling grass dimmed by jet skies fill you with dread
The tapping of leafless hands on rusted roof puts you under duress
Flash lightning mimics the morning in negative filter
The heavy blows of drizzling rain harmoniously mix with discordant wind
Then when it all settles, the beating of your own cardinal is unnerving.

Then I realize, all of which I stated are now in memory

That the stone road that always greeted me is now but dry and dirt
That the music I once heard met a sharp end that made everything else flat
That the movement in the brush no longer shivered my spine
That the birds and beasts will never again come to cheer
That the storms that ravaged my midsummer's night dream
is the same storm that ravaged my youth

And without these childhood memories
I am left unsophisticated, rural
Bare.

Journeying into deep ends of thoughts silent and unprovoked
     A growing tremor lay in slumber
     Asleep yet its consciousness aware
Wary of predatory emotions that seek to rest beside this truant bare
     Beguiling heat do they propose
     Bestowing dreams of ardor prose
     Beseeching thoughts six deep
Yet their prodding could only rouse it to grow further in its sleep
     Calling out to old man grey
     Clustered with thoughts astray
Journeying into deep ends of thoughts silent and unprovoked.

     Despite its vice grip on normalcy desired
     There is little truth in its solitude
     There is little truth in its cowardice
     Despite all hiding there is little truth in this heart.

It is a fallacy we all believe.
As we vehemently exclaim six words
to prove the chastity of our thoughts,
to fill our pride with self-validation,
to ratify our existence with falsehoods.
"The Devil made me do it!"

"The Devil made me do it!"
I bitterly laugh at your blundering gaucherie,
as you lay blame on an eons old transgression,
as you smote the sinnerman flying with flames,
as you called him out for your own actions
impassioned by heresy.

Impassioned by heresy
You sought to relieve yourself from perdition;
brought upon by perjury declared,
brought upon by authenticated truths,
brought upon by the duplicity,
of your favored reverent ideologies.

Of your favored reverent ideologies
which is to laud your skirmish against evil
in order to remove yourself from auburn eternity,
in order to induct you as a citizen of argent fields,
in order to orchestrate contempt towards another?
Is there no truth to you?

Is there no truth to you
now that perfidy imputes your entirety?
as you declaim in front of paradise lost,
as you coerce to regain what is rightfully deprived,
as you throng duress by intoning your delusion:
"The Devil made me do it!"

"The Devil made me do it!"
Its recurrence is maddening to Him
while you, in all your sentience, chose to act unbecoming,
while the celestials perched on your shoulder bawl,
while He that you blame does absolutely nothing.
It is a fallacy we all believe.

Dawn came as exultant release called out to me,
unleashing their alluring notes from the endless chiming of hearts
like evangelical sermons directed to impure minds
constantly begging for me, like divine wind, to throw myself at your celestial body

Morning lingered when warmth embraced my hands,
setting its golden gaze on my earthly tones
like wings pristine with incensed hints on its tips
shedding light on my soul, overshadowed by a monolith of self-hatred

High noon was evident when you spoke of desire
of how you fell from admiring me from above
as the dark winds from wings aflame trailed us
as you told me of ardor, with the light silhouetting your design, with your mask before mine

The doting sun, oh so true does set to rest,
unmasked by the evils that plagued my caged cardinal
as you craved for seven heavens to soar
as you flew away from me, further each try, further away with every leap from ground to sky

Evening came without stars or moon to haunt,
when you grew weathered by winds too strong
when you decided Nirvana was no longer I
as you undid heartstrings, with feathered blades that came from your frustrated inabilities

Midnight grips at my chest but you are not within my reach,
candle light can no longer chisel your androgyny
nor courteous words be answered when I pray
but one thing true fell from a single star, that shed its light, from hope of your return–

Just do so when your appetite roars to love me again