Serpent
tangles its coiled
tail choking my neck
hissing and spitting
blood from
glacier
fangs.

Cutting my skin
into shreads of
icy shards:

I can taste that
steaming sour breath
that heats up the air
breathing out death


the words that remain
of a traitor, a liar

You breath in
the dark shadows
blood seeps from
your fangs :
lust slithers
into dead
wounds.
The white
of your eyes
is the disguise
the moon
that sparkles
and soothes:
Staring in
the murky
water you
see the monster
you become.
The leeches
that ****
and slither
feasting
upon each
human
creature.

Swirl of currents
flow and separate
light from the palm
of your hands

Rainbows pulse in
the sky exploding
high into fire works of
colour

White aura's surround
your fluorescent
wings as you take flight.

The lessons you taught
was to embrace beauty
the battles you fought
to avoid ritualistic duties.

Your mind was so deeply vast:
your body left for dead.
You were living life too fast:
each day should be quietly tread.

The garden
is covered
in white veils:
the ocean lights
up in blue and pale
white splodges.

Roses and Daisy's
covet with each other
in red paint hanging
tight together
on window ledges.

The sounds
of chimes, cars
church bells  sing
their melody.  

The violet harlots
strip off their
cloaks and
embrace in
natures dance.

The white ivy
glows pale and
sleeps in her veil
inside the confines
of the garden's gazebo:
waiting her sweet time
to be awoken by each
parting kiss and
joyful chime.

Playing her
melody she
plucks each
string in a careful
manner:

She can see an shadow  
mimicking each move
made the reflection
that sits behind her
cutting the fine tuned
strings with her dagger

Her song keeps looping
in the background
but comes to the
grinding end.  

She could not hear
her song, the melody
the words that once
came together.

It became silent

Her heart loops
beats stops
the song of her life
falls incomplete
she falls into
a coma
death's
sleep

Red cherry blossom
twirls into the
sun soaked ocean.

The sunlight dims
turning from pink  
to grey trees begin
to bend they are grasped
by Autumn's wind:

Green shrubbery
rots into the ground:
It waits for the day
the month of Jolly May
but in the mean time
disguises itself in
murky soil: awaiting for
rebirth in Spring:

The ravens sing
a high pitch squeak:
they cannot keep up in time
with the melody:
They ponder and
flock in the night
to bite at the flesh
they can find.

Autumn brings the
chill in the air for the
winter only lurks
around the corner.