I sold my soul for a fool world's gold.
The devils in suits said I would grow bold,
instead, I just grew old.
The promise of success turned my heart to less.
So I took it back in silent attack.

Now here I sit, with an empty heart, and a soul once sold, and torn apart.

Time goes by, and the tears I cry,
turn salty warm as my soul reforms.
The fool inside never wears a suit,
and their promises become mute.
The golden shine has worn thin,
now is the time to settle in.

I want to tear these words from the page,
burn them up with rage,
but the ink flows from my pen and I am calm again.

Writing verse and prose,
that's how the story grows.
The moments in between are moments never seen.

Now,
here I sit,
alone.
My memories merely dust and stone.
And out the door, in gloomy cloud,
the life and warmth of daily crowd.
And the dark,
surrounding,
coercing these shadows of doubt.

Soon its night - once more.
And the icy-blade sliced heart of old,
filled with stories...
...lost.
Untold.
Yearning to see the sun,
to feel its warm caress,
drying tear drenched sands of a bitter-sweet shore.
Mine.
Forever.
No more.

Rise, once again, like a Phoenix from the ashes.
Realise you have always, and will forever be.
Cry tears of blood and watch them turn to stone,
as the ages unfold to be alone,
and never alone.
In a world of many billion realities,
lost in a universe of infinite singularities,
who determines the tone?