Come with me, astride a silver breeze

among drifting clouds, across glistening seas

along whispering blues, amid fleeting blooms

above stark peaks, and over tall greens

I dare thee, to set your mind free

Burn thy fears in the fire of your greed


Skip no stone, turn away no chance

Learn a brave's mortal dance

For death my friend, is a cunning foe

Lures you away, whispers of woe

Take no heed, take a deep breath and charge ahead

For one true life, is worth a thousand undead

My heat still beats
My lungs still breathe
My muscles move
My eyes still see

But my heart pumps black blood
Through frozen veins

Restricted lungs
Force mud
Into my veins

Muscles on auto
Do tasks that need no brain

Eyes,
dim as frosted windows
Reveal an empty vessel.

A lifeless soul
Bound by mortal coil

The lights are on
But nobody will be home again!

We are all mortal
designed to die.

We are all mortal,
so, to a new world we fly
like birds

on the wings of death
we fly to peace
we fly to freedom

for we are all mortals
and we must die.

His Dark Angel smiled;
cold lips warmed by passion.
The trance compelling.
Desire for the flesh burned
in immortal rage.

The snow fell.

His Golden Muse lay slain;
warm blood cooled by liberation.
The death an afterthought.
Indifference for life
in mortal depression.

The snow fell. The winds rose.

A spirit retreated to the
only embrace that remained.
The Angel stirred in the shadows.
A knife fell.
Taking the bloodied hand
he clasped it tightly in his.

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze.

The pages of his life blood
lay scattered across the snow.
Like a sacrificial alter
the volumes were placed.
The temple now erected.
Each author a contributing artist.
The funeral pyre now complete.

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced.

The fire scratched violently at the frosted air;
each enamelled finger reaching out in horror.
Ashes twirled, battling the soft white flakes;
angels and demons seeking one final act of sovereignty.
He glared through the flames, motioning to step forward.
He firmly gripped the stained hand, holding it ever nearer the
flame that writhed in its own tormented agony.
There was scream that emanated like a banshee, yet ended in the flames…

The snow fell. The winds rose. The tears froze. The flames danced. The end marked.

So often I fall to pieces at the sound of Springtime’s quiet voice,
Luring me to once again, lose myself in immortality
And become enthralled in sunlight
Which will only set and the end of the day.