Look me in the eyes and tell me I am not already dead.
Look within my soul and tell me, all is finally at an end.
Look with your silver eyes, which reflect my very own.
A chaotic wind right before the deadly storm.
The redden horizon, fading into the coldest of blue.
A will of a way, left to burn within the goodwill of our mortal souls.

I see you Dear Brother...
A man shroud in the facade of a devils red clothing.
But men, we are not...
Are we, O brother of mine?
Two hidden lies, masked within a mould of our own demise.
A shell our mother has bestow upon her demon spawns.
Masqueraded truths smeared, until all came crumbling down.

I spoke of my hatred as I slipped from your grasp.
I fell into Hell with a malevolent wrath,
a curse befalling my tongue;

I hate you

Another lie, another sin.
Added to a pile of our transgression,
shadowing us in its path of our own destruction.

Look into my heart and see my love.
A love, which has not commenced into something dark and malcontent.

Look and see another me, (mirrored in your stare.)
Look and believe all is fine.
Look and tell me my blue coated wrath,
is nothing compared to the inferno of a burning Dante
while playing the part of your savior, Virgil.

Two souls, forever intertwined.
Both born under the sacred son,
but destined to fall under baited spikes.

When will there be rest, O Brother?
With my blade in your chest?
Or the indirect request of your blessed reprieve?

Look, before all is too far gone...
nigh is the time,
Look and you might just see...
Me.
but alas just yet,
maybe,
you shall see a piece of yourself as well.

You know me,
You see me.
You know my
thoughts,
my dreams,
when i sleep
and when i rise.
You know I'm imperfect
and You know there's so much
more to be done in me
and You love me,
not the me i will be
but the me that i am.

Years disappear
under shifting dunes
of days and endless nights.
A quiet cloaks
the ticking house
as summer falls
slowly on the crystal coast.
Evening tide is running out.
Days get shorter by the day;
moonrise comes early
above the straight blue line.

Through the faded curtain
a lone ship far out to sea,
a gull floating on a breeze,
driftwood on the shore.
A young boy casts his net
and pulls it back once more.
Catching memories
discarded in the sand;
another dune is born.
He turns his back upon the ship
and wanders home.

r ~ 8/5/14