I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

So pleasant was the weather
a summer spent together
she's *****-trapped with pleasure
sensations in great measure
To you, she was a treasure
but today there's nothing deader
than the tingles in your head or
the fantasy to wed her.

Tell me of her touch
like earthquakes in foreign lands
that you can feel between
your legs
like ocean water churning, churning
falling upon you when you're burning
from a sky so vast, it seems
that your dreams are pauper's dreams
She's like that same sky in the night
so dark... so bright
your eyes are alight
with infinity in sight
and you take a bite
of her honey cream thighs
you feel alone
and then she sighs
and you are responsible
it's like some living math
you plus her
in a bubbling bath
equals roiling memories
that cage as much as free,
freeze as much as warm.

What choice do we have?
Life is a choice of slave masters...
Be enslaved by love,
or dominated by hate:
either way, there's pain.
Either way, there's a rain so fierce
all the world is swept away,
but you and she, she and you,
you can never be erased,
for you are not earth and tree;
you are not river and rock;
you are spirit:
a thing proved unconquerable by death.

So, after life, when there is time to linger,
think upon the touch that tingles.
Heaven waits for all men,
each woman a
piece of
it.

I know that it's twisted,
But, what love isn't
It steadily grows in your mind,
Vines intertwined, each branch is a vessel
To the heart of the blind,
because that's what love is.
Simple, how it complicates
When it breaks,
There's no remedy for how it aches
The mistakes, that you so awkwardly pursue,
Are the branches that lead to the, I love you
Now tell me and listen,
Let the quick sand, quicken
As you drown in the dust
Of what you cooked in the kitchen
You thought it was religion,
When you said your vows,
Like an animal you're stricken
When they, she, takes you down,
Simple, how it aggravates,
When you take,
Your last step.
Hard to believe it when you feel
A back-stab wound,
You're all consumed,
You want to crawl inside,
With the rage that love has blinded,
The truth is harder to take,
Than any magic pill you make,
Any time a simple memory,
Sneaks up to say, 'Hello!'
You're breaking every mirror
To not see your face bellow.
There you go, it's twisted,
But, what hate isn't,
With nowhere to go,
You feel like the convicted.
So you're trapped in a life,
That you don't want to be in.
You'd love to start over,
Just where to begin?
Tears are like, rain on the window of your cell
It's fine when you're here,
No one can hear you yell.
Anything, so long as you forget that smell,
The one that's so good, it's like poison in the well.
You want to drink.
God you know how much it hurts when you do.
Hey, take another sip...
It's not like the memories are through with you.
They're like the torturers
And you're a rat in their cage.
An experiment sometimes; Life.
It can go both ways.
You just never believe in bad fortune,
So why bow to the danger?
In the depth you're so hollow,
Because inside is a stranger.
There they are again,
The tears,
The fears,
The anger,
The stranger,
The hate,
The scientists.
Back again with prodding sticks.
They're in your mind,
And there, they're rooted.
You once grew love like a tree,
But, your world's upside down.
So all you have are the roots.
No... wait, they're thorns.
Like the roots...

Our world is dying
Its aches are the wars
its groans are the screams

Blame
like a thorned crown
needles my mind
sowing doubt
and guilt.

Yet, I accept my purpose...
I heed the signs
I slay the serpents
I caw the call
salvation is worth this.

I gather the worthy:
the wheat from
chaff;
those humans, now demons,
in abandonment,
laugh...
but the worthy, chins high
heads aglow
walk the path;
I tread
through endless snow.

Yet when the passage
has been met
"Was I wrong?
Am I false prophet?
Crazed all along?"

For the gate is not barred
it spits us out.
It cleanses its treasure
from our ilk
like holy drought.

Left to scour the wasteland
gnawing us with frost
We wander its wasting reaches
We're not frightened
we're lost.

Strangers meet under banner of peace,
Each with bubbling thoughts to release,
Words, flooding jaw, to open mouth,
Salivating tongue, whipping words to route.

Gingerly they stand, like spices they are,
Ready to aid any recipe,
To reach for dreams afar.
They don't even know who they are,
But they make shapes of one another,
Regardless of fit, unlike kindred brother.

Bright words fade to dark whispers,
As the strangers make new friends.

In the end, what is left are daggers,
Made from the shadows of contrast.

One stranger bleeds, invisible wounds that bleet,
Calling out for transcendence, beyond defeat.
The other ponders for silence, amongst the wheat,
But in a field of sorrows, one cannot help but eat.
The strangers stand apart, on a stage bitter sweet,
For underfoot is the rage, a sword incomplete.

Rage desires vengeance, out of arcane countenance,
Fallen from mercy, they each are kane to the sore,
Humans thrive on the jolt of fear sans repentance,
For the breath of *****, and wine, are of death.

Acquainted strangers shed blood instead of nectar,
So as not to drink of the life, from which they all are victor.

Yet they stand mortal enemies, under the stars of fate and boredom.
Where is that banner of peace, waving to set the stage... again?
For we are not sworn enemies, we are mortals of a fallen kingdom,
Meant to die for beliefs that will eat us alive from the inside.