In light we see, the blemishes, Give me darkness i insist, Neath raven skies The rhyming mind Exists but never lives
The light at first diminished Lost from sight, I Squint to find, Was the progeny of truth Inside I bitterly denied
The light at first a glint Of hope, Now shimmering and bright Existing neath The raven sky Now living as the mind
A prison i had created for myself, the story teller always writing fatal endings for himself, the truth within that can be the difference between being consumed by the darkness and merely in the presence of