Snowing in mountains
Howling wind answers to none
The lost ruins calls

Frozen time collapse
Sleeping child rests before Falls
Mirror lake commands

To see the unseen
Promise of first Autumn Moon
Shall show you the way

But beware, my friend
Inside the Mountain's stomach
Riches of sickness

You are precious to me.
Much like that fateful ring though, you bring me much pain.

How can someone that brings so much joy into my life bring me so much pain?
The same way the ring does of course.
Being with you is such a high
That being without you is worse than death.
I would do anything to keep you.

Not only that, but the ring desires its true owner,
All others are simply a temporary placeholder.
The trouble is, I know I'm not the final destination,
Which means it is only a matter of time until you will be gone forever, never to return.

Still, I would travel through Mordor for you,
Although I fear I won't be as fortunate as Frodo.
I would risk my life, go through all the pain.
All you have to do is ask.

The chance of me making it through this journey is probably about the same of Frodo succeeding without Sam's help;
It just ain't gonna happen.

It's my day off

even-though so was yesterday I feel I deserve a rest.

I cleaned the washroom
I did my reading
I even exercised in the basement,
a little longer than usual.
Man am I great!


Then comes the lazy hesitance,
"this is not the end, begin."


Content with what I've done. I can do no more,

Well I could but I think I'll just play video games.


the lazy hesitance with a silent call a draw to do,
"one more thing"


Be wise with these urges it could steer me wrong, again!

But it says, "go out", not **** your neighbor.


The heavy lazy hesitance,
coupled with the silent push to do one more,
"just go out the door, just out the door that's all honest."


"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."


I dunno, should I go jogging?

A friend of mine asks,
“Why do you only ever write about romance lately?”

Well, the answer is quite simple, really. It is because I have tasted it.

I tasted it when my eyes first drank the light from his grace when he stood tall above me
His saturnine windows called out to me behind flesh curtains whenever he spoke, ever asking me to join him in his ecstasy
He, from a distance, darted towards me and pressed our sides together—letting myself melt in the velveteen touch of fabric skin
There was a shower of momentary light that night but only his radiance did I bask in.

I tasted it in the heart of the stone city where usurpers of old stood on polished stone
The Bulwark’s adobe reach embraced our reverie as memories from sleep stories become reality
He, in the confines of that venerable fortress, made me vulnerable for I was secure in his arms
His fingers are in between my own like woven mithril unbreakable lest he broke its bond himself
It is in this kingdom of carven stone and handmade walls that he sang of ardor with a dragon’s petrifying gaze.

I tasted it in yuletide storms where men and women waged war with happiness and grief
When the armies of pain and suffering fell at our clasped hands and cheeks red from amorous verve you said you were to journey home
But you did not let go of my grasp
With me you remained and in your arms I stayed
As the bitter winds of bigoted mouths blew, as the fire from damnation is declared by self-righteous souls, we stood fast in the storm.

I tasted it when he said our love he could no longer endure
There we sat, on a tarnished vehicle, as the last of our love gave into rust
What is frightening to me peeked from his saturnine eyes and he closed his curtains shut for the downpour of despondency was to come
We flooded our façades and the rivers quaked our emotional integrity
He held my hand for one final chance before we ripped our wrappings forever apart and he kissed me tender
Our lips made love—like the first they ever met in weathered heat—for the last time.

I tasted it when I told him “Just do so, when your appetite roars to love me again,” and until now I am waiting.

So, why do I ever only write about romance lately?

Well, the reason is quite complicated, really. But–but it is because I’ve tasted it.