He must imbibe, he must throttle their fear.
Father to tribe, demons hold him dear.
This drunkard devil, this fiend to sin.
What cage shall they next hold him in?

His throat is parched! Their vessels full.
If he took one bite, would it be harmful.
These animals, they litter the streets,
For what good are they, except to eat.

He roams the towns, he roams the dale.
To satisfy him, no man may prevail.
His cold red eyes, his calloused hands.
He will reduce the world, to empty sands...

The marching procession of his feet.
Mounting, fleeting, death, upon all he meats.
Blood drips from his hair, tears in his eyes
To this feral man, no one tends to his cries.

There he may ****, and here he may choke.
Blood he may drink, as if milk were a joke,
But why pursue his death, when you are worse?
You are no victim, he suffers insatiable thirst.

Those who cross, this nighttime terror, will be sure to know his name,
From ocean blue, to Timbuktu, the ghost of the man is to blame.

He rides upon, a howling steed, he sets women's hearts aflame,
He will dismount, only to pay no heed, to the life, the gods call, 'game'.

Beware, oh Bandit, do not pierce, the eyes of the open believer,
For what you have seen, on the journey of one, has made thy soul, cleaver.

Hated still, the tainted will, of the man who rides, in the palm of despair,
Points his fingers to the sky, in faith, that the heel of truth will be there.

The bandit will leave less on hands and feet, when he comes through,
Yet, he will leave more than tears, when with your ******, he must make do.

So true is his arrow, nailing to the tree, the reigns which he has overcome,
Out of sight, he is a patriot to the desires of his heart, serving no one, but one.

Where will you go next, bandit, what treasures will you next seize?
What of the riches in your heart, crucified by forgotten responsibilities?

He searches, this bandit, for the one elusive key to his caged soul,
As if it were on race ahead of himself, always out of reach or toll.

Aghast! He halts in treasure cove, at odds with the sight before him.
What layeth on the ground, is a sight that attempts no boredom.

Here! Is a sight for eager eyes, here! Is the quencher for desire.
That which is in front of him, will extinguish his mind's wild fire.

One foot, in front of the other. As if he had no longer the ability to walk.
Made the bandit, his way over. To the treasure that made him gawk.

It lay in fragile casing. It had a lustrous stare.
Even though it was alluring, it should have made the bandit beware.

But, oh! He was too hasty. For the jewel, evidently tasty,
Incited him to grasp it firmly, like a gluttonous man upon pastry.

What was it, in the cave? The treasure that could powerfully ensnare?
Oh child, I cannot tell you, for fear, that you will go there.

From the depths of the sea, they came. Homeless.
Creatures of hapless form, and formless bodies.
Animals carved in the nature of blindness,
without godly supervision; deities.

Convicts they were; that which is wrong,
Leaving behind a world lost to them. Alas,
Their crime is that they did not belong.
But even in exile, they hold debt to their past.

They flopped, they crawled and oozed,
Out of old skin, they became something new.
So the years passed and frequently bruised,
They became gargantuan and further still; grew.

Inhabiting a land, once uninhabitable; now tamed.
Creating dominion over raw nature, they climbed.
Hills, valleys, mountains, volcanoes! They claimed.
Even in the face of annihilation, they climbed.

Above it all they choose to rest, touching the sky.
The creatures learned time, then they chased it.
Always pursuing it, always getting one step ahead. Fly,
They soon did, faster, faster, faster, they chased 'it'.

Until they broke out of the awesome surface.
Like once before they made prints on lands once untouchable.
The creatures are creatures no more. At least not all.
But, soon. All the creatures will float away 'pon solar winds.

I look back on the first of them all. The scared,
Unsheltered and curious creature of the old world.
It looks upon me, with questioning, unaware of destiny. Unprepared,
In its dark eyes, I see light. Light that I am closer to taming. Knowledge unfurled.

The ecstasy in the harmony created by the symphony 'pon my guitar... the chaos rending quake, of a glass breaking in the kitchen as melodies echo into the void caused by aging seconds. Part of me. Living in a utopia of sounds; the other, startled by a panicked accident. This is the nature of coincidence. This is the nature of the world. Harmony and discord, sharing the same cup.

Weeks spent searching for an answer.
Inside, I've only been finding cancer.
Grow strong, you'll be a dancer.
"You're wrong, that's not the answer."

I'll grow into a crook, roaming streets.
I'll crack open stores, like nuts, for eats.
Prostitutes will be my daily conviction.
My homes will slay me with eviction.

Little did I know, I'd become a legend.
Like Bilbo humbly living at Bag End.
Plenty stories to tell, mistakes to defend.
Dragons I've slain, lovers in deep ends.

Yet, it's all come down on this bluff.
I'd always believed I was a tough.
I'll have you know, it's just a bluff.
When I jump, I'll fly into the rough.

I see her passing by like a shooting star.
How rare these moments truly are.
What purpose that drives my heart to devotion.
Devotion, driven, like swimming across the entire ocean.
Fate prepares before birth's first light.
Was it love at first sight?

I stole a rose from her garden.
At first opportunity, I gave it back to her.
"Oh, the most beautiful rose I have ever seen!" she admires.
It was once her's, dare I say she is in love with herself?
I was wrong, I see it this day, she is in love with me,
Finding excuse to attribute wondrous things to me.

I can't be foolish, I must be strong.
At second opportunity, I cannot be wrong.
"Just as the lake reveals to me the truth of my face,
Dear queen, you reveal to me the truth of my heart."
She delights in my words, but there is doubt in her heart.
A thorn I see there, but gifted with the proper acumen I am not.

At third opportunity, I come prepared.
To seek out the thorn, to vanquish it, but she is scared.
She has grown used to the pain of the thorn,
Now removing it is the true thing of scorn.
The operation begins and I am lost forever,
"Familiar it is to you, and you thought you were clever..."

"Whatever do you mean, fair queen?"
The thorn, it is poison, a dagger unseen.
"You put the thorn there! It was you that maimed me!
Your poison that's trifling, the ailment that claims me!"
I stare without word, I'm pale to the touch,
How cold I appear to be, confusion as such.

"If ever I did, and I do not say that you are wrong,
Truly it was another man, and not I that broke your song!"
She quivers with anger, the spittle is rain as she speaks,
I am drenched in accusation, unable to evade the shrieks.
"You broke my heart! Your rose was evidence of that!
Had you not stolen my innocence, you would still be a rat!"

They have fallen upon willing ears, her words.
No more opportunities, flown south with the birds.
"What will you have done, my queen,
I am undeserving of your mercy..."
Our eyes met and diverged from meeting.
Our hands, once acquainted, are strangers once more.

She says the words pronounced like kung-fu film fists to the face.
"To, the, guillotine, so, it, is, quick, and, clean, post haste!"
Her judgment is clear, I await the deed.
Taken to the pit where it is to be done, dragged by her steed.
I look to her and her eyes no longer reflect love, but doom.
She is the last thing I see, and death my last moment to bloom,
Like a red, red rose.