Look over where the flowers grow
  Watch the men at work in their glow.

Under the carnations, tulips, lilies and a rose
  There lies a headstone of marble and tears.

It's worn face tells of years in throes
  The respite inside saw the setting sun in fear.

Wilted were the flowers with limp petals
  No sign of the hands that laid them in mettle.

In dusk there came creatures of comfort
   When beautiful silence encroached the earth.

The deftly moving hands of fate wandered in the night
    Searching for the opportunity of a strange plight.

They were strange and forgotten without notice
   Their marble hearts stole the souls of warmth that drunk from its chalice.  

The twilight of the darkness caressed the sky
     As men were asleep near their hearths.

The soul that rested in the cold ground knew the silence's cry,  
   The beautiful silence that despised the light and it's worth.

Where a cold soul has worth in the sea of the cursed,
     When the light left death to revel in warmth.

It was upon the whim of an ancient cataclysm,
  That brought forth the faith of naturalism.

The praying of saints and sinners alike, whether in the grave or still full of life.
  A judge of true light to be heralded as grand,
  Receives the effort of an avenging plight.

Remember in darkness where the truth lies, as it lies in the beholder's eye.
  Trick our souls into feeling the withering cause of death.
With one last stroke we shall take expel our breath.

Break down these barriers and how they exist,
  Make all divinity crash down with it.
What gods may conquer, they shall never control.
     For the armies of faith and secularism will be in turmoil.

The words lost in the  cacophony of deranged souls from the void,
They call out to me in need and look for a place to bleed.
   Whereas their spirit sinks into the earth to be forgotten.

But forgive me not as I take your vitality and whither it away,
Like the leaves in the dying season of fall turning to winter placing us in the fray.

Punish what is seen and not told, similar to the blind man's aspirations of sense twice fold.
Beat upon this golden armor and wash away the dirt,
For being a brother to me in this world is there the pain shall spur.

But as I envision a perfect world together,
There comes the reality of a horrid, deathly endeavor.
No more sight within this broken lens,
All the blurred cracks shall repeat again.

Listen to these souls of a world gone dark and dreary,
  Let this weary forsaken soul become human and bleed with feeling.

Fallen angels rise
The lost bury their sorrow
The dead rise again

Beyond the lurid hills of wonder and the mirror lake,
  A land of livelihood and mirthful wake.

Where seraphim touch the facade of nature's beauty,
   Where nephilim perform their sacred duty.

The vast expanse of ethereal asunder,
  The demons quake in its peaceful slumber.

A paradise for few where the holy once held,
  Now the desires to consecrate purposes will meld.

The fruitful trees of an innocuous test,
  Which hold the desires of men in its breadth.

The wary traveler dare not stay,
  For in the garden will you shy away.
Breathe the breath of a thousand days,
  Yearn for the fruit from an eternal wage.

The garden of life, the garden of sages.
  The angels will call, and to the cull shall sin fall.

Fear of absolution, relishing of hindrance.
  A wall of black, darkness that rests within
  To fall under blistering defeat to reiterate the blood red scrolls of sin.

Decimate remains of a hallowed grave,
  Torment and desire to those who strayed.
Falter under knowledge of an atrocious cause,
Beg for the black widow to hear you call.

Succumb to the temptation of a lustrous quintessence,
  Grasp at the hot wind of a deserts blast.
Underestimate the repudiation of the reserved contrast,
To be forever forgotten, but to always last.

An endearing gesture, the respited conjecture.
   Fidelity to be measured within the length of our arms,
To be faithful to ends in which gratitude is yet yearned.
    Within the brazen walls of such lasting impressions,
The only abstract love is of the confessions.

Let the sincerity of words touch your stricken heart,
  Before this world ends, before affliction starts.
Trust these words of wisdom that age cannot exactly tell,
  Listen to the gallows of before a winter fell.

The warmth in your veins mingles with the red of mine,
Under the sported remains of a husk of refrain.
   Be the wind to guide the loose leaves of a summers passed,
   Be the loving gesture of a lasting lovers grasp.

Watery depths to sink in like stones, relishing the moments as gold wears down and folds.
Take this epitome of life and flush the blood out, the snow white complexion seemingly calmed down.
White gold mixes with bronze, bronze to mix with steel. This makes an alloy no stronger than it feels.
Quiet silence, sudden outbreaks, what happens to these souls when their love washed away.
Rush up to the wooden box, to be buried under the snow.
Push those regretful tears away, filled with sorrow and woe.
Put down those hands upon white cloth, resting onto the black attire to reminisce on the moment with loss

A desolate desire, a rambunctious hope.
To see the burning fire within this zealous stroke,
With inflamed vessels of red to be seared,
The beat of a heart with a sound quite fickle.

Undecided fate, lack of concentration.
  In a mind of dissipation, despise the renunciations.
Piece together the puzzle of the human mind and rip apart to be in the mad man's confines.
  
Fortitude to bear, uninterrupted disaster.
  Tutor the wreck less with ambition, explain your own maddening rendition.
  Take back the flames of a stolen heart, hope it lasts before it starts.

When the threads of gold are stretched,
  When the lives of men are in distress.
Pull down the lever to start this endeavor,
  With the pinprick of the gold spinner to put the princess to sleep,
     Bring about the winds of change as warring factions heed the call of priceless lives,
  The minstrels singing to the winners who survived the fall.

With the  kingdom crumpled and the men at fault,
   Who is there to blame but the king's forethought?
Wherein these restless nights shall lead to turmoil and the walls shall decay.
    Despise the soldiers who protect the fray,
Put arms in revolution and take back the winds...
    And have it all start over again.

It was summer love that took my heart,
A love that took it then pulled the muscles apart.

The surgeon carefully cut me open to see what made me work,
Oh, the pain that I felt when it worked!

My poor heart was threaded back together,
But the damage would never heal from such an endeavor.

And when nature felt my pain she recoiled in shock to such a thing,
The birds that sang in love were ignorant of my tragedy.
  
The wind rustled the leaves on the branches, shaking them off.
But they would grow back always and forever.

Her hand touched mine and I felt a thrill,
I looked to her and we walked thru the woods.
We stumbled across the stream with laughter,
We walked thru even the worst of disasters!
Oh, how we loved and it all embedded itself into my chest.

She told me that it would never last, that she would leave and be long gone.
..now, I sit here in my chair, listening to nature once again. I sat dreaming of what might've happened; what I knew in reality kept me alive.
But, my imagination is what led me to cry.

That summer love that never existed,
And how love can be so fervently twisted.

Upon the worn trails of down trodden souls,
The fool, the sinner and the hopeful leave their woes.

On the path of salvation when many lost their way,
Other paths start to branch away.

A conestoga lays abandoned on the trail,
Where many idealists withered and failed.

The industrial city left behind in the dust filled wake,
No turning back from the journey,
You already chose your fate.

Where would you go in the months and weeks ahead?
Possibly to new Zion or make your own land to think that you'll be well on.

Beware of the adventure who is a fool to travel along,
So always journey together or die without a throne.

Watch the morning turn to night,
Watch the restless birds take to flight,
  Pull down the curtain of transgression,
Your sins can be the confessions and thorough impression.
   They will remember you,
    All you have done and what you didn't do.

Despair lays in the wake of disaster,
Much less the years after it's alabaster slate is slowly waning,
Slowly evaporating.
Drape the curtain over our eyes,
What we see if the prize.

alas, The snow covers our trails and ash covers our corpse.
We lost to heaven at the torch,
For many times forgettable.
Melt away the snow and sweep away the ashes.

Oblivion craves yet resilience staves

Often does the sun shine to spread its vibrant rays,
Upon the Stoney, marble surface of those whose souls had to stay.
Pay homage to these fellow men who cannot move and will not rend,
Tell from these names who had passed before their time,
Inevitable date when which their souls were confined.
The ground never sleeps nor will it ever stop,
Passive aggression transition to a morose retention.
We all know it true, not even blood will stop its rage.
When the clock goes to ticking, our lives will stop and fade.
Take in the dark suns low-light days, compare it to a bashful way.