Alone in the darkness
among the doors of confusion
the screams of the heartless
only heard by condemned in seclusion

In the duality mirrors,
life smiles at me in one hand,
death stares at me in the other.

To make everything clearer,
one question for each is planned,
although my enlightenment is for another.

The art of the desperate,
the seeking of our hearts pleasure.
Death, what is Life for the helpless?
for the the ones without leisure.

Life is War.
I hate War.
At the end,
there is never change.

Torn by half-truths,
I gaze at the other reflection.
Life, why cant I be happy with what I have?
always looking for perfection.

Life is Hope.
I love Hope.
At the end,
there is always more.

I said liars!
smashed the illusions
they vanished in blue fire
inside my soul in fusion.

Feeling down and rejected,
shackled by my own lies,
I want life as reflected
in the energy of my love's eyes.

Life is War.
Life is Hope.

A war won by hope,
the kind that has no scope,
but inside one self
between beginning and end.

I'm tilted and insist that you know I am grateful now here we
are-
an alliance. Let's see ourselves onwards, be borne by our
fondness-in accord, be our love for the colloquy.

Spry, exuberant. We are free spirits draining oceans of ink, bathing in rivers of lies to find the truth while saturated by pride.
We are propelled to propinquity, as we seek for a better prospect while drowning in propensity.

Our hearts bleed onto the paper,
wanting more love of passion
to spill out endlessly,
so others can relate
to share this burning fire
Deep within our souls.
we seek endlessly for acceptance and relatability,
with someone who we can feel
safe to share these wonderful feelings,
feelings of want from our vulnerable hearts.

In sharing our vulnerable hearts,
I becomes We
the divine flame burns brightly, guiding lonely souls
to meet heart to heart on this happy road of destiny
a stream of gratitude flows from our bloods, and we discover that we write to connect
to the divine source that empties us and fills us.

Uncertain moves.
Letting instinct choose,
being blind to certain horrors,
that which taint one's prideful honor.

Sister of blades, release my soul
free me of pain, a hundredfold...
take me away, from heart's cold.

Geisha of spades, take my hope,
so I might once again cope,
with the people I have lost,
and left behind..

Mistress of aid, light my mind.
Direction is what I ask,
to cease being blind,
and see past her deceitful mask.

Goddesses of truth, in you I trust.
Do what you must.
The future, I know, will be just.

Quick quiet whispers of clarity
give into my dazing sound
of inner turmoil and obscurity
from a love I never found.

Choirs of thunder intensify
the place a dark heart dwells.
Claps of lightning identify
a terrifying beauty that compels.

A useless emotion remains,
the kind that feels like chains,
and although I grew up with it..
I am not defined by it..
but I wonder if I should..

Clever synapses electrify
an idea I never entertained
experience stands to justify
a hope unjustly gained.

The sound of lucidity bells.
The promise of a better age.
A bright dawn that sadness quells.
The beggining of a brand new page.

And in the rage of love,
my soul tore apart.

And in the desire of love,
I have lost my heart..

And in the hope of love,
I found insanity's art..

And in the edge of love,
I see our chosen place.

Where we are together but alone.