Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.

Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.

The ground around her

Slowly coloring in white

Her sweats

Are slowly becoming cold

Her tears

Feel as if they are freezing

Before they hit the ground

The cold like spears

Piercing her skin

Taking away the warmth

She lays down

And curls up in the snow

The trees surrounding her

Her limbs turning purple

With speckles of amber

The snow dancing down onto

Her limp body

Short and slow breathes escaping her mouth

Her body covering in white

slowly letting her last breath out

she's one with peace

You have my lips stitched together
And my soul withering away
Do you not understand, nor see
The pain coursing throw my veins

I'm sitting, keeping my peace
Keeping my mask o'er my face
I'm laughing, smiling even
And no one can see

I'm suffering slowly
Within your abusive grasp
Your childish one too
It grows bigger each day

What am I supposed to do
The news came so soon
The truth came out
And there ain't no doubt
Mother,
That your slowly dying
Slowly wasting away
Mother,
You hid the truth
And I shouldn't know
But Mother,
What will I do?
If I lose you
Mother,
I'll have nowhere to go
And I'll waste away too
But Mother,
Why didn't you tell me?

People often say to me “I wish I could write like you.”
Which to some degree I should find humbling
But if only they knew the truth
That every time I touch the pen I'm afraid of what it might do
Behind the guise of self expression it takes possession
All defenses are torn a sunder in pain under its reign
And I am helpless to stop it
Like I would, even if I could anyway
Each tear in me is subject to its tyranny
I watch every sunset fearfully
As the veil of darkness falls
So do the castle walls
It is then that the pen will begin to possess me again
Coercing confessions of sin
However, as much I hate it
I abhor I love it more
I concede that I need it
There is a stink of distinction
Between me and this ink pen
Yet still somewhat synonymous
Whatever I hide under the surface
Determines its purpose
And it always serves it
Even if it hurts when
I bleed through this pen.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HOW SCARED SHE IS. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HOW SHE WATCHES THE WAY SHE WALKS, BECAUSE THE LAST TIME SHE FELL IN LOVE, SHE HIT THE GROUND. AND SHE WOULD OFFER HIM HER HEART BUT IT'S BEEN EATEN AT AND STORED IN A DOGGY BAG AROUND A CORNER WITHIN HER CHEST - AND SHE CANNOT HELP BUT ALWAYS FEEL LEFTOVER. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT SHE'S SCARED OF FEELING.
BECAUSE IT DOESN'T FEEL HER BACK.

I can talk the talk of love
all my days

and I walk the walk of love
in silence