The words of the Mother.
The will of the Father.
Tangled together in loving embrace,
A web of some snares and many praise.

"Oh who, may I ask, could edge this place,
So laced with by the eagerness on their face.
That they dare tread in our domain,
Thinking they could leave with no remains?"

Says they, ever watchful, ever lurking,
Not unlike the eyes and desires of the Erlking.
Yet with loving eyes they have and will watch,
With care, they too tread through this notch...
...where giants had fell.

Be gracious to all their iniquities,
Be grateful to all their insufficiencies,
Be graceful to all their incapacities.
For we all live on the same path.

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

A multi-faceted construct, this is, a divine work.
The million praises had earned it some perks.
A panopticon of disillusioned dreams,
Broken, leaking, failing at the seams.

But yonder! A company midst the black,
With they will you finally find some slack.
Join hands in joy and in finding your lew,
"Dance with me!" Begins the pas de deux.

Your forms weave, what amazing shapes you compose,
Your steps in sync, what amazing music you propose,
Your eyes locked, what amazing love arose,
Your mind fogged, what amazing dreams we live in.
In the color of madness.

"But all dreams end eventually."

In fear you of exposing the core of your being,
How many layers have you hid your soul in?

"Conform," they say.
"Contrive," they say.
"Concede," they say.
"Conclude," the say.

But this is not the dream you want, is it?

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

The panopticon arise from the empty nothing,
It always follow, no matter where you go.
The all-seeing eye is but a golden nothing,
Run, run, all you want, you must answer yes or no.

Beneath the sky, a thousand eyes open.
Unblinking, unmet, undisturbed, restless.
The glass sun drift across the lucid sky,
Fabric weaved from lies are made often.
A quiet greatness.

The singing river runs deep, in the valley of our hearts.
What horrid lies it tell, what fervorous dreams it make.
"Alright, it's alright, it is ok to die."
Is this is the tragic end of all our arts?

Extent of dreams and fervor and lies?

"Tell me, tell me!" The voices cry aloud.
"Show me, show me!" The eyes line the crowd.
"Let me, let me!" The hands grasp at straws.
"Hear me, hear me!" The mouths, unified, proud,
Frivolous.

The utter destruction of logic and will,
The mindless construction of information still,
The great structure of mirrors and speakers,
The ruthless construct for harvesting souls.
Pointless machines.

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

Dread the will, dread the error.

Hide the body, hide the mind.

Fear the panopticon, fear the construct.

So many lies, so many cries.
How many limitations will you place upon your salutations?
Life's a cage we built, never knowing that it'll tilt.
Self-imposed, juxtaposed, core exposed.
Why?

Naught may answer, for naught emerges from the black.
Why bother? They all collapse anyways.
So, take me with you,
Unto a newer afterlife.

Its pieces lay peacefully on the ground.
Splattered across the countable infinity.
Why bother asking that question?
The mirrors speak well the language of another.

Oh mirror, my dearest mirror.
Tell me of that tale once more,
Please?

"..." Says the filth-stained mirror,
Looking back at me with looks of utter
Distain.

Oh mirror, my beloved mirror.
Show me of that world you say,
Please?

"..." Says the gem-socketed mirror,
A silent judging, I can tell, and
Distaste.

Oh mirror, my enamored mirror.
Show me of those faces you shined,
Please!

"..." Says the gleaming mirror,
With an attitude akin to another,
Ingrate.

Part 1: The Princess

Why does the princess perch upon the balcony?
Contemplating her life? Enjoying the view?
Or is she hoping for her knight in shining armor?
Desperately waiting for someone to come rescue?

This castle she chose to put herself in,
This prison she chose to reflect within.
Waiting, oh she is waiting,
"Someone ought to come in time..."

Someone surely, sometime coming,
A lover in waiting would bow their form,
And ask her to a dance,
"Come with me, for I have greater joys for you to see."

This predicament, this painful loneliness,
For why did she put herself in this place?
The world moves on, dancing and screaming in joy.
She awaits, for something better yet.

Part 2: The Knight

There was no warning, there was no sign.
He came undercover, and act without notice.
Pulling her forcefully into elsewhere,
Where the people are dancing.

A waltz, a rave, a conga line, a wave.
Not a sound he uttered, not a word he spoke.
But quietly, silently: "For whom do you wait?"
Words could not describe the joy in her eyes.

It comes without warning, like a storm or a tornado.
A force of nature, it is; an exception, it is.
Peer through that slit, you will, and you will find a nothingness:
The sheer will of the absurd...
The grandeur of the Night...
The will of the Other...
The calling from that world beyond...
But I implore thee: do not look in, for the hatchling is yet unformed,
It requires time, patience, and a careful nurturing,
But not from you.

What happens when an egg does not hatch?
It shakes and quakes, but its power can't match.
What happens when the shell does not break?
The child cries and weeps, of the worlds it cannot make.

Good evening,

This is a love letter to ye faithless.
This is a confession letter to ye hopeless.

I often do wonder if we live in this era.
If we are, if we are not, etc.
I feel as though blinded by fears,
I feel as though deafened by gears.
All the while the world moves forward,
Leaving me in the dust, left to wonder.

There is not a day that pass without the simplest desires,
That existence has too much that it requires.
Day by day I confess through languages,
Night by night I fall again into madness.

"Who am I?" I asked.
And nobody responded.

"Why am I?" I asked.
For nobody responded.

"Where am I?" I asked.
Yet nobody responded.

"What am I?" I asked.
But nobody responded.

The burden that comes naturally with existence itself,
Oh, I wish to just leave it behind, my self.
Buried somewhere in this earth,
And for everyone to just forget I was there,
at all.

To cry into the abyss, and for no response to come.
Driven mad by one's own mind, painless and numb.
Die, and fall, and into obscurity we drop, what a ***.
Not even trumpets or choirs or even a drum.

Just gone, gone, and ever gone.

But this is a love letter to ye faithless.
A confession letter to ye hopeless.
Negativity would ultimately be pointless.
So,

Roar on, and laugh on, and sing on evermore.
"Then we'll be happy." But we are already.

Cry on, and weep on, and mourn on evermore.
"But it's oh so ******." But please remain steady-

On this path we tread, not knowing the end.
In this world we live, unsure when to leave.
But the clock is ticking and never ending.
So don't wait in drowning and stop the sinking.

This is a love letter to ye faithless.
And a confession letter to ye hopeless.
My words may very well be endless.
So,

Good evening,

Be well.

Best regards,
Noire