A healer with broken wings
Stands staring down at his hands
They are covered in crimson blood
As clear tears run down his cheeks like a flood

The memories..
They are all coming back to him now
Terrible things which he wishes he had never done
Things he wishes he could go back and change somehow

He lost his gift trying to free her
His love to him the greatest spurr
Yet still it was not him that broke the chains
Yet still it was not him that took away her pains

He lost his wings when he was cast from the order
His gift used up and his mind now in complete disorder
The ones above him saw him more as a threat
That it would be better to just cast out and forget

He lost any last shred of humanity when that creature came
When it tried to make him and it one and the same
For that life it took from him his sight
But ever more it had cast upon him a terrible blight

Now he is losing his sanity
As he stands in the rain contemplating life’s profanity
Everything is swirling around him in a cloud of dark abyss
Everything within him has gone terribly amiss
The simpleness is gone
And so is the light

  Now his mind is falling into…..                                                   
                               
   o                         
                                    
     h  A          s                                                       
                                   C     ­                                                                 ­                                                                                                              ­                      
                                                                ­                                                              
                                                                 ­                                                     .

Tis' only poetry, sweet poetry
that lingers on my mind

that haunts the drunken moon
that lovers whisper in the shadows

Tis' only poetry, sweet poetry
that rescues us from sorrows & ourselves

that the Sea sings in it's lullabies
& that the oppressor fears

Tis' only poetry, sweet poetry
that lingers after death has tolled

it's dark, dark bell
Richer than the gift of any king-

behold!
Sweet Poetry!