I am the sacrificial lamb
To your Jihad
You are the target
To my warpath;
If we should never
cross paths in battle
Let there be no animosity
between us
Let us meet
In Valhalla

A Weepers Loss

The nesting spirit
Colours her bloom to a skylarks call
A mystic red river roars silent
Oer the hushing lips of time
Playing its dance to the weave
of white willow

Lit to her shadow be a birthing moon
Oer sun drenched ocean  streams of desire
A promise firm to the pulse of memory
Tempers its fawn to the flesh of Babylon

Mooring its dawn
To the stain wake  of night
Spinning ***** to the severed eye
Set dark  to the clik
of a keepers find