I was waiting by the flowers,
And found out the Garden was black as night,
The tide was dark and grey,
The light was dim and onyx steamed like a dragon's mouth,

I stood up,
Moved forward and all I could say, was I am nothing,
But everything is in me,
Waiting to simply Breathe,

Death called,
Hell was after,
The lake of Fire tried to eat my Spirit,
From Heavenly Love's Desire,

But away I was,
Victorious with Love,
The only percent of time I could,
Ever do or say,
Was something always,

Inbetween time,
I've found the design,
Of new and old,
Old and new,
Combined with things I knew to do.

I hear you in the silence of another lunar cycle
       your predatory stare scares me to death
  the intimacy we share writes like
the history of a "Divine One"
    the Michelangelo of modern times
you promised me healing as you
           studied me intently
  eyes filled
a storm drain overflowing with rain
  your gaze no longer reflected
        in the glass
   you are now stood by

  at just thirteen you held my soul
  on rose pillows of chiffon fabric
you were more than just the oxygen I breathed
    you were the beauty I saw in
    every dark haunting thought
my mother told me that my
    primal wishes were the most childish
  fantasies she had ever heard
a pure example of human interaction
                 I yet again
       misunderstood.

© Sia Jane

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.