When and where,
Did I start following your star?
A thousand lightyears ago?
A lighthouse, a beacon,
Through densities of dark-matter,
Shining so brilliantly through eons and epics,
Calling me to explore early explosions,
And beginnings of time,
Golden light reaches me,
Faith and speculation abound,
Dynamic and static this knowledge,
Cold steel anvils crushing hard against burning and fiery tempermental vestments,
Wearing proudly this armor and adoration of you,
Like many who've come before,
I am the King,
At least this time...

The finish line,
Within reach,
Running for my life,
Then running for my life.

Psychopathic shells,
Of lost and dismembered souls,
Crawling from the crypts,
Of graffiti filled walls,
Carved by long since disappeared ghosts,
Of yesterdays expectations and never-ending tomorrows,
Flashes of broken teeth emerge from faces,
That long ago have forgotten how to smile,
Moanings and groans,
Echo through the empty halls,
As physical needs manifest and display,
The forever lost sensibilities of Mind.

Walking across dunes,
And dreams,
I hear the music,
And let myself down,
Holding hands,
Behind consciousness,
Open to suggestions,  
Vivid limits,
Aspects of self,
Cannot be reasoned,
For love is growing,
Holding hands,
A beginning,
Dimensions open like flowers,
Petals awake to sunrise,
Submerged deeply,
Like sandy shores,
and tsunami efforts,
Breathing new depths,
Of understanding,
Holding my hand,
Touching my face,
Gently whisper into my ear,
And release.

And so I sit in life's content,
And drive away all intent,
Harbored feelings rest inside,
Nothing left,
Here I reside,
Smooth the silk of hated paint,
Disguising truth and disgusting rank,  
Follow through and punch the clock,
Whisper when you cannot talk,
Follow me down broken aisles,
Avoid my eyes and broken smiles,
It's hard to stare at my reflection,
Your soulful eyes give no direction,
Lost again to imperfection,
Take me away,
Another round?

Tonight I'll try and mask the tears,
That pound against the arid ground,
Like thunderous rains in the Texas night,
Rumbling from a strike of light,
Rivers swell and breach the banks,
Like hearts left lonely,
And eyes left blank.

It's difficult being a godess,
From what she says,
Listening closely to the cries of those afflicted,
Surrounded by pleas and self-acrimony,
And the Ill-nature of things,
Her soul abounds with sympathy,
Her will strikes down her empathy,
Suffering begets compassion,
Be it beast or human fashion,
In the mind of mortals,
It is through these portals,
Redemption is often found.