and even though am convinced within,
that am right and tempted to believe,
that am wise and lured to judged,
I lean on the counsel of the old,
the Socratic words from Greece,
a Confucius text from China,
and heed the advise of the guardians,
from the stars and their shadows,
listening to beat of my heart

am no student of art
but paint with the strokes of my heart
at the beat of its drum
the blood on my arm
dripping from it's fist,
in a dance at a feast,

a bonfire, a hollow moon,
a reaper's scythe, a large spoon,
digging with my nails,
to blur my trails,
that when the sainthood comes,
to bleed my palms,

I stand justified
my ego satisfied
in a pouring rain
that eases my pain
when my soul rampaged in vengeance
and seeks not the house of repentance

am no holier than those before me,
nor those to come after
am a man with an eye
searching for a light in blindness
wisdom, in endless perversions of flesh,
and love beyond corners of graves
the blood of my soul,
that i use to cleanse my past,
of filthy hands and feet,
when the sun rose to cast my dark shadow

even the sweetest melody fades
after soothing a sobbing heart
into a slumber of silence
into a smile of dreams

I break my bones,
drain their marrow,
casting them into a fire,
the ashes of my youth

tears of the moon,
lungs breath out
smoke of ecstasy,
from dying flames,
burning desires
to leave ashes of sun