The beat of thy heart,
Is Echo’d in mine.
Beating doggedly still,
Betwixt thorny vines.


Out Blood whirls,
An unending fount.
From which unfurls,
What passion wrought.

The rage of mine heart,
Against its cruel cage.
Like a cornered hart,
Unbowed by old age.


From beneath sprout,
New growth at last.
Withered vines rout,
Pain having past.


A Garden now blooms,
Radiant flowers beguile.
Underneath a bright moon,
Two hearts a joined wild.

A world has fallen
Its principles abandoned
Its people scattered to the wind
Now only ashes remain, where once was prosperity
Skittering haunts amongst the ruins
Ghosts of men, sunken eyes
Never to rise again

They live here, in filth in squalor
Knowing nothing of the Sun
Its radiance has no place here
Its warmth long forgotten

Instead they play as Kings and Gods
Blissful in their ignorance and want
Empty as the world they inhabit
Longing for purpose they could not comprehend

These spirits are restless
Anger fills their ethereal hearts
They claw at a present unknowingly begotten
The halls of the past marred with the signs of their fury
Struggling for meaning lost to time forgotten
Working now only with broken parts
They wander eternal, deathless

I am broken, and I do not know why,
I want to fix me, but I cannot try.
What’s busted inside will not be fixed.

Its pervasive and deep, like an old ****,
Though I pull and pull it will not heed.
Sometimes emptiness cannot be nixed.

My garden has grown dull and dreary,
My hands and muscles long since weary.
Though still I till my barren field.

My skin darkened by the baleful sun,
Though only small victories are won.
Said work ensures my fate is sealed.

From this labor my soul is chiral,
As I toil onwards to the downward spiral.

Settled upon on a Charred Throne
In A Kingdom long since burned
The Lord of Ashes waits alone    
His court forever adjourned

He is adorned in ancient rags,
His Crown a dying Ember.
Waited upon by umber crags
For a purpose none remember.

He muses of ages since begotten  
And of clashes his blaze had won;
He collapses into nothingness, forgotten
Flakes fading one by one.

The Phoenix King rises from his pit unabated
His inner flame burning bright, having never truly faded.

What a Fickle thing a Heart must be
For you to Treat is so Terribly