In the night of purple murky clouds
that fell from heaven, a heavy haze
envelops the old palace, a velvet shroud
that blinds all but the keenest gaze.

Yet there atop the palace gates,
a spotlight sends out golden blades
to slice the velvet and spite its weight:
gleaming swords by brighter spirits made —

A signal to the clouds, return up high,
cast off their shroud and kiss the sky.

I write to help me and myself, only
then I will have a little relief, when
It kills me to admit that I'm lonely.
That I am alone, even in heaven.

Where I have everything but people
I love, people who are everything.
My choices and their effect still ripple
This is the jail of my own reckoning

I want chance to relive my life again,
To walk the path that I did not take then,
To take the choice that will help me regain
Their trust, their faith, their love, their very pain

I will set everything right even
if I have to leave my hell and heaven.

The Choir of Judgement is out of sentiment,  
All lies that I told them were deftly sheared.
Underneath threefold stare of vivid Judgement  
The angels, burning yet cold, must be feared.

The Choir Contrition bleeds the blood of ice.
An angel feather owned by Contrition
Used like flensing knife to cut out all lies  
that I told my mirror in deception.

The Choir of Mercy is eternal pain.  
They use flames of worship to scorch my bone,    
So only spirit of the act remains.  
My mortal flaws keep me from going insane.

The Choir Redemption then considered me,
They sensed my anguish and set my soul free.

that you were
the light
the dark of the truth
the hidden of the known
the fire in the blades
of dew
glimmering
in dawn's alighting
that hope would herald you
as rings in my oaken smile
as rings in my oaken tongue
that I speak you from wisdom
that I drink you from death
for death knew not
your purchase
and I knew not
your loss
for your light was my mote
of surrender to peace
for within, I have been burgeoning
the passions I cultivate due your return
where you wallow in the pools
of my tear full palm's embrace
seeking forgiveness's I cannot part to you
though I love you, your sin is true
but I favor you as my greatest lover
for my sin would be to abandon you
what prices have never been paid to conquer love
that I would submit myself to forfeit by folly
I would surrender myself to pandemonium
before forbidding myself the task
and into the frays of madness
into the braying maw of sin itself, I've gone
to conquer your heart with gladness
that surely,
through God's grace,
our Love is Won...

I am the night
that never ends.
I weight your world
until it bends.

My cloak of fog
devours your light
and deprives the soul
of inner sight.

Once Dante stood
before my gate:
Abandon hope
and seal your fate.

Selah.

A distant presence
now calls me out
to challenge my
dark seeds of doubt.

My choking mist
and gripping vines
are loosened by
an else divine.

My nine circles
now fall to one.
A white-gold flame:
My time is done.

The rubble cries, mourning the loss of human touch. Weeping over the crushing silence that echoes through the once busied cobble-****** streets. These neglected edifices, with their iron-rusted bones, litter the long-vacant valley. The inhabitants of the forgotten valley stopped bearing children and began falling ill, heralding the arrival of their great collector.

On their own horizons, the people could see the visage of their guilt, cloaked in tattered rags that seemed to disintegrate against the most subtle breeze and sitting atop an emaciated mount with pallid skin. That rider, who strolled ever so slowly, dragging behind him wrapped in chains the ill-begotten promises of fools, the indiscretions of humanity came with ample warning. They ignored him; their self-loving monuments fell, and the crystalline waters of their gilded fountains flowed with arsenic. All too late did they recognize the shameful consequence of their hubris.

And so, when that cold Gray Rider arrived, gaunt and hollow-eyed, to collect his caravan of souls, the buildings howled like mothers sending the last of their children into the cold, unforgiving world. Thus, the sorrowed rubble weeps until it is reclaimed by the borrowed Earth, slowly returning to the soil from which it was born, allowing the verdant valley to take shape once again.

Gunmetal grey skies
loose leaden teardrop tempests —
Lights in the window

Hello sojourner
You, walking down the freeway
Did you **** a man last night
before riddance took him on his own time
Did you come out of the womb and become a holy judge

I can tell by the look in your eye
You dream of building a house on hard shells and salt mud
Down the shore on the ramparts
to drink from the debris and float in the cyclone
You don't cut your flesh
But you feel, every time the tide hits the rocks

Goodbye sojourner,
Are you done with the mountain?
Did you watch a bird of prey as it glides,
and envy the freefall more than the flight?

If I told you I rooted out time  
Held it by the horns, knocked it out
A lifetime landlocked, would you go gentle?
On a pinnace, through the gulf.
You would go a sailor,
moored into the chasms below

I lose my shape, shattered
In turmoil, deeply battered
Beneath my veil, head bowed and tattered.

I lose my way, defeated
In steps that forget to plead,
In anger blind to its misdeeds.

O Master of the Universe,
I am lost,
Forgotten the path of obedience.

O Ruler of the Horizon,
At Your door, I knock in submission,
To embrace the light of devotion.