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Stephen Purcell Dec 2013
Tears of blood run down a snow white face.
Doubly compounded purity, sanguine and ancient.

Dancing flames infuse the veins of life,
Consanguinity is a curious riddle.

New blood merges with old; when they meet sparks fly.
These sparks develop, building ideas, lives and Gifts.

Psyche, breath and spirit are passed down.
Lineage, loyalty, honour and creed encompass all through these ties.

The dual lusts; both for blood; fulfil their purpose.
Eyes cloud scarlet red until they are sated.

The shedding, sharing and spawning of blood.
These are the foci of this world.
Stephen Purcell Nov 2013
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
In the beginning, you danced in the rain,
Your fire doused by the weight of the world.
You spluttered and your glow was crushed.
The expectations of society held you down.
Your movements were feeble and your light was dying.

It began with a touch of innocence, that harmless naiveté that age withers away.
Such a fragile essence of youth is pounded by the harsh reality that is life. Broken.
This acidic reality consumes all; Innocence, hope and simple idealism.
Maturity is a merciless awakening to a ruthless existence.


She drowned you in standards of beauty and perfection.
Did you not realise we are all beautiful?


The moment stops, stands in turmoil
and caustic, sarcastic scepticism.
It builds, climbs and crashes around you.
You fall, die and are swept away.
Only a spark remains.


‘A will to shatter stars.’
Your mind snaps, is reformed and strengthened.
Apparently, “what doesn’t **** you makes you stronger.’


The darkness of your father’s death;
and the morbid beauty contained within that blood-stained image is glorious.
It drives you to new heights and drags you to more depraved depths.


Passion unblocked, and lo, it lies on lofty heights.
Luminous, boundless, binding.
Your smouldering coal bursts into flame anew.
A curious desire for life is born;
Its candle flickers alongside a raging inferno.


A rebirth ensues.
Complete eclipse of restriction cycles from new moon to full.
The lunar light darkens shade by shade, shadows lengthen and the sky descends.


Lightning arcs though strong clouds.
Pulsing energy razes the heavens in its purest form.
This is the ultimate representation of your freed mind.
This chaotic rolling mass of fury, built up over years of restrained frustration.

Inexorably intertwined, our threads on fates tapestry weave over and over.
A ghost of echoing sentiment remains, one that must be guided, lest it is forever lost.



Gently nurturing a recovering mind is a tedious process.
Great perseverance and patience are required to preserve both its sanity and your own.
‘Tis a far reaching and noble goal, yet one of the most arduous of all to pursue.


This explosion of your psyche and subsequent downfall leaves a dangerous dilemma.
A block, if you will. A redeeming light remains from your rapid release of consciousness.
The key, is in finding that light.
Unlocking this matrix of memory produces a spectacular result.
This web of twisting thoughts spins in the air.
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
Stephen Purcell Oct 2013
The sun creeps over the horizon
Spreading divine rays across the sky
Golden fields sown with ripe corn gleam in the radiant sunlight
Bejewelled helms reflect multi-coloured lights as kings ride to war
A day of new beginnings, joy and wonder

The last shining light of day disappears over the lip of the world as shadow sets in
Grey immerses the world in perpetual slumber, the only witnesses nocturnal
Sleepy eyed townsfolk trudge to bed while thieves and spies awaken
The reign of night has begun
Stephen Purcell Oct 2013
Blood, so potent, the reagent of life.
Birthed from chaos and establishing ‘order’. structured yet willful  influencing life, love and the balance.
Riled in war, simmering in peace, ready to explode.
The whims of blood, The Blood.

Whether split or spread it always calls, eternal curse of power.
The debts paid, yet always reincurred.
The currency of the heavens and depths, glorious and tempting. By knife or pen, bled or bred, the Blood always rises.

Sacred, sanguine, hallowed, holy.
Sacrifice, cleaned by fire washed by blood.
A cleansing spring, the red water of life flows.

Signed, sealed and bound in blood.
The pact renewed, the covenant reborn.
Stephen Purcell Oct 2013
Entangled, inseparable, the dark and the light; the sun and the night.
Sandy blond hair and a musical laugh; jet black locks and swiftest flight.
Heights they encompass and the depths they rule.
One, united forever, from balance to fall.
He, the prophet, musician and scholar; She, the maiden, huntress and guardian.
Spheres opposing, mixed and mighty.
Fire and water, the shadows in the forest and the piercing rays of dawn.
Starstruck, moonstruck  and tied together in lunar madness.
The Lord, the Lady, marked by fate bound by destiny, yet the fall begins.
Intoxicating, this bond is; the burden of power, responsibility and statute.
Deep they fell, into abysmal glorious ecstasy, and crossed the forbidden boundary.
Their spheres merge, tempted they are and temptation the succumb to.
Blood, the blood they share, reddens the moon and darkens the sun.
The Earth descends into eternal twilight.

— The End —