Though the glimmer of
           evanesce shines aloft..
lighting the wayward
                      wonderers path...

Always remember that below
             every shining moment
that there is always be a shadow
                         under every candle.

Feathered motivations coated
                  within every layer of
     her distorted refection.

No one will taste the flavours of  
              her contorted thoughts,
everyone coated in delusions...

Between the fissures of our existence,
there is a moment where we must all
decay into a garden of eternal beauty.

But for us to collect on the petals of
our demise, we must surrender.
Yielding to our fears of eternal silence.

We are all but a breath from our inevitable
decay, but we still try to water dead roots
that'll never grow again, dead flowers to ash.

Were prettier when were still, vacant allotments
of thought that'll never regrow. Where just a
moment of death consumed to never live again.

Woven in time, kept as a  keeper of that most sacred.
            Becoming the symbol of devotion,  
though not moving always kept in the relative
surrounding. Arms woven tightly as rings of
ages are kept in the ever changing surroundings.

This is a collection of reflective knowledge,
ever growing as comprehension
            divides into fruits of a labours growth.
We are guided to grow, to flourish beyond the
speculation that makes are growth.

But  we must realize that with every fruit
that flourishes, that some will wilt and fall.
       But with each one nurtured by what we
collect from beneath our gaze,  we eventually grow.

A web of contusions that collect
               in strands of consciousness,
bruised sometimes but always intact.

Collecting every moment and delicately
dissecting every word as if though
                 removing a tumour of ill refection.

Showing the strength of one empowered
                 by her surroundings,
       But consumed but her twilight memories..

Sod the fumigated thoughts
that were meant to be
                           reflected upon.

My original attention couldn't
be spayed upon, like it was
              cockroaches of originality.

I'll crawl upon every blank lyric,
that seeds every page with my
                         worded heart beat.

Never can my words be confided
to the delusions of others
                      repetitive replications.

We mourn our final expiration
                         never realizing,

That we were decaying from
                       our very first..

Dilapidation upon a
                         very first breath..

Dying from the moment we were born.