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A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.

The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.

His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.

On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.

Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.

He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.

The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.

The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.

Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.

As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.

He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.

A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.

Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.

The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
I’m flying in the light
I swallow my pain and fear,
As I hear angels and devils fight
I can shed only a single tear.
Entrancing ghosts circle the air,
The feeling of terror is waning,
The virginal silence starts to tear,
The one tear I shed, is staining.
Words in the air, the quiet is going.
Colorful vapors hover over the path.
Sticky life, hangs on to the crying spirits.
Once more, I feel Gods wrath,
And hear his cherubs haunting lyrics.
Oh Jesus! God’s queen is sweet.
Strangely, it’s peaceful behind the light.
I must now bow down and kiss her feet.
I can only help myself in heavens plight.
Red bugs ooze from crystalline water.
I stomp on them with my shoes.
She gazes, knowing no one can stop her.
For me, this is surely not good news.
An angel’s child I am to bear.
Awaken! The birthing is hard.
This one child I cannot love, I swear.
From now on, I cannot fault my guard.
Deaths life is unafraid,
But I know that his love for me is hesitant.
This life of death I have made,
But my lover’s fury is notoriously unpleasant.
My chance to flee across the river Styx,
It finally arrives, just on time.
A bribe to the rower is my quick fix.
I tell my beautiful evil child everything is fine.
But then I can throw her off the boat,
And tell her that her next life will be better.
I know it’s over when her curls cease to float.
My last words to her, were that of my last only love,
To tell her that if God had a better plan,
He had better start working hard up above.
I have relinquished his holey wingspan.
But now with who can I seek my final shelter.
For a price of passion I can take a final board.
This mans love is enough to make life swelter.
But I know I can end it all again, with this rope and cord.
Touch her here,
Touch her there,
She wants to be touched everywhere.

Slow and passionate,
Or fast with your heart in it.
Either way, you must stick with it.

You could be on top like a dove,
Or she could be the one above.
All these are ways of making love.
The white parchment has nothing on it
No poetry to add,
Nor the story of a bleeding comet.

This writer’s block, it used to be bad.
Things go from bad to worse.
The paper beneath my hand feels sad.

Should I start with the rolling of a Hirsch,
Or should I resort to a sonnet?
Either way my pen is about to burst.

I can picture the lady, wearing her summer bonnet.
Brushing away another shadow’s kiss.
The pain of her life, painted clearly on it.

Only one more thing, will this picture miss.
It’s the pleasure of the pain,
While cupids taking a ****.

There is a difference, now and then.
Then you could taste the rain.
Now its just me, my pencil, and my pen.
Level with me Doll.
How is this going to go down?
When are the shots going to call?
Don’t ail me with that beautiful frown.

I might be walking to my grave
With these wounds and a bottle of ***.
Lovely one, you must be brave
But know, if I lose, you must run.

I think he said it started at ten.
This situation is already bad.
I think I will wait till nine after then.
Death is only a phase, don’t be sad.

Some might call me a coward
Others might dub me a hero
But we must always march on forward.
We burned it to the ground, just like Nero.

Pack your bags at once.
Be ready on the fly to flee.
If I am a fool, I will be a dead dunce.
If I survive, know that I will be back for thee.

Know this my darling Katherine
That this deadly roadside cult,
Even when the end didn’t begin,
This was never your fault.
Sitting’ in this green field,
And feeling the wind in my hair.
I watch the breeze sway the trees
And I watch the traffic go by.
I can hear every detail sailing
Through the clear late spring air.
The bird calls to its lover,
And the trains rumble silently by.
And I think to myself…
Wondering what kind of person
I know I could share this exact moment with.
And he felt, heard, and saw everything I did
Just with different vision.
The only thing that is the same
Is the love filling the air
Around us.
I looked forward to your class,
It made me happy when I walked through the door.
But it was like walking on shredded glass,
And I always came back for more.

You pushed my limits
When it came to my own form of art
You made me look into my heart, deep withing it.
As a whole I wanted this moment to be more than a part.

Sometimes all we did was read.
Being at my best was quite a feat
For you, I tried so hard to succeed
I only had everyone in the pod to beat.

Ogling something more than the books.
Persuasion was out of the question and moot.
But how can I help it when my teacher had such good looks.
With a perfect personality to boot.
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