My knight does not need to be
in shining armor,
nor blessed with prestige
or countless honor.

It only needs to be you,
someone who could wield
a sword, respectable enough
to be able to strike a heart of gold.

Thy pride is as ancient as the splendor sun,
Thy flame is as old as the ashes of eternal glory,
Thy wrath is as wretched as the false marbles of Nero,
What giveth thee such wicked pride, thy over charring flames:
Thy envy or greed is as vast as the unbinding waves;
Twas by chance a ray of light you saw by blunder:
Why did all the scorching heat turn Into morbid ice,
Life’s a shadow; more you insist more wretched thee become,
Long agone before thy birth, angels bowed before thee:
What giveth thee such wicked pride or thy undying flames,
Thou shan’t creep to darkness nor fret over the long winter,
Thou art prey to thy desire, slave to sweet temptations,
In thy gods name thee eagerly trample upon countless souls:
You have forgotten that you are meant to be human,
Proud is what you are, pride is all you have for eternity,
May thee remember; why and whence thee came in.

You're just a soul
Without a body
A void, the hole
Inside me

I am unable to give you a form
A structure to the laughter I hear
You're mystical
More than just a smear

You're my intangible creation
Above everything, and all
You'll rise with me, if I fall

Too holy for the rest
Unfathomed, my beloved
Keeping me closest
With requisite gazes

they don't know that
she is classical;

she is the kind people admire
but seems to be impossible
to be figured out by anyone,

but when they do,
oh how they can hear the
most beautiful lullaby
coming out of her.

— s.r.

Lenore, not lost
but only sleeping
sainted, yes
and night comes reaping
radiant with demon's dreaming
tapping, tapping, like before.

Sure, the wind
has caught you from me
dances with you
rare Lenore.

Send this shadow
with it's rapping
send it
flying, from my door.

silk blouses and cotton underwear
the nights merge into a sticky soup that falls into the pocket of a sweater i was wearing when they said that death is permanent
the voice echoing into the receiver of my first cell phone
the wavering tremble of someone in the middle of realms
sleep and consciousness turning the other side of the pillow
wondering if the smoke in my lungs felt comfortable
wonder if the moon sinks lower into your backyard
i was never good at distinguishing shadows and when i found myself on the dark side of the mattress;
my feet cold and feeble i wondered if you could hear my heart a thousand miles away
the fluttering of a drowsy bird, lethargically dragging it's clumsy wings into the plummeting stifle of open air
you said my lips were like the halves of a plum
i bit them until they bled but it was never as sweet
it was never as sweet