I peer through the world
With opened eyes and a complex mind.
There is a man much taller than I.
Long before the dawning light
He puts the razor to his face.
Every one experiences their first "cut"
My fathers words
echo throughout my mind,
"It is foolish to make
The same mistake twice
Expecting a different result."
Our joy of life forbids us
To be near the edge.
But you will not live a single day
If you dare not to make a single mistake.
We are but human.
We bleed, we share pain.
Without passion, we do not breathe.
On the Razors Edge, we learn to live.

The Man Within the Corpse

Seldom- Very, truly seldom and steadfast, Had the dreadful illnesses corrupted my senses. Proving it's very method to madness. Though my sinister health and very feeling of utter imagination left me accused. I witness to many of things which were not at the time, present, and heard Unspeakable things the shuddering truth which could only be heard from the grave. Though the world would fancy me mad I am in no such business to pertain to madness. I was a very methodical man. In life, I held order.  I had always been a man of great humour.  And had I savored every last second of this event.  As the depths of Hell held me in their clutches, it came down to Act Or Die logic. Ordinarily, I was a man who would bite his own tongue, raising my voice, rather than my own hand. I reserve to incline any to all ill mannered accounts of wrongfully accused rumour bet against the condition of my well being. In life and death I remained subject to such gruesome  and  selfish consequence. I hold no fancies of any form of the after life, for the things I ever so witnessed, in life, had truly proved a fate far more worse than Death. I will tell you how stealthily, how quickly, and wittingly I had planned the venture of the old mans passing. I was a man of vengeance and grave punishment. The old man, never bade me harm. Rather it was his dreaded illness, which was to be taken into account. The cancer was slowly feasting on his own being alive. Though I doubt if I could convince the world that the deed committed, was an act of sheer love, and was committed honorably and favorably. I loved My friend. It was not in life, that I knew so well of my friend, but in death. For now, he and I had something in common. No, the old man was not at fault, I think it was his deceitful  nephew! An indecent whelp! At every move he did make, would cause my blood to boil. A cold shiver down my spine, though I was never made aware of its existence. I was not Mad I was Patient! Tried and true. My passion held the late passing of his nephew. Though the old man's curiosity would prove fatal. Though once convinced, I was at the point of No Return. I would not leave the old man in his final hour. Though if you take me for mad, then I am not at fault. For madmen Have no sense! If I am Mad, how would I have carefully, methodically, and sensitively planned this on my own? HA! HA! I will rightfully take all credibility  for sheer wits and creativity which I had been true to the blade. The only matter at hand was when. Timing, and order is efficient. I had all of the time in the world. I would waste not another second and deprive demons of such lethal and treacherous conduct that which was rightfully theirs. By the grave I saw such casualties.  Otherworldly occurrences which failed to make their presence  known. As I sat, deep into that darkness waiting for anything remarkable to happen to break the dreadful silence! I could hear it! My senses sharpened and heart ever so beating with rhythm of the quickly  passing clock! The time had finally come to do what must be done long ago! The Great  Voices of Hell forbade me otherwise! Heaven held not its glory for me. Troubles came forth revealing its name to me in full. Through darkened swarms and high waters...I went there alone in no consolation to rid of the potential threat. Doubting my faith as it had been tried, by the hideous creature which was reality. My heart heavy and soul ever so stricken with grief. The stark horror presented itself along with the dark figure presented as death. I stood at his door for a matter of minutes in shuddering disbelief. Though I did not ensure nor  did I suppose any form of threat. For his limited vision was no match for my wits as I well hid them from the rest of the  world. Deep into the darkness, he there lurked a demand, as if he was begging to be well rid of. I had every intention of granting his wish. I gave a slight knock that August Night. Through the distant clap of thunder I heard the old mans  constant groaning and cries in the darkness. I gave a slight knock once more. Here I opened the door.

Yond woman fair
I beguiled not
How strangely had she taken my fancy
And had her sweet uncertainty
Would enchant the wondering eye.
A force, which would be unreasonable
To be reckoned with.
Thank Heaven!
That morals are a thing of the past.
And even a Gentleman fine
Could dare wander
Into the underlying territory
Which is mistaken for Love!

With just hands
At last through years
I gazed upon that yonder shore. 
Above the mist and smoke
Where men would dare claim
Earth. 
Such a vision appeared
Of that Golden Palace
That divine rod 
That separates myself 
From my dreams.
Blessings to the dreamers, still
Even in the night's own hour
They still long for what the 
Heart desires. 
Amidst the Autumn 
Afar the Altar 
Yond that threshold there
That Golden vision
I peered through tears.
Such a vision for the blind 
It would aspire their view
Towards the very
Face of Christ.
Direct your paths 
Through  that starry night 
That gentle morn.
Hear me Aurora!
Your kindred spirit 
Of yesterday's departure.
Memory, a fantasy
Absurd though dire, still
Deceived I was not
Captivated, brought forth
Against her silver lined glory
In the Golden Vision pure 
Through the starry night.

The  Skies they were  Volcanic
 The leaves so crisp so ashen
 The trees they were 
 Bare and bitter
The trees Naked and brittle
It was thro the late November
During my most hindered year
Spent down by the lake of Merideth
Where lovers claim Heaven
By the banks of Harbor Bay
The frozen wave of Merideth
The chilling wind of Harbor Bay
Here once I found my soul
Thro the misted woods
I roamed alone 
Through an alley of Oak  
I found my soul 
These were yond
In the days of Yore 
On that day
my soul grew chilling
Spent abruptly by the shore 
On that day in my soul 
There was a yearning 
Spent endlessly by the shore
In the innocent days of yore

She rolls upon the sigh of Orion 
Her voice Carries 
thro brume and mist 
These were days 
when the tide was high
The waters pure 
My Soul volcanic
As the scoriac valleys 
Onwards strolled
While our destiny remained
Entwined with the stars 
I said, "Gracefully she flies
Between the Goliath
Rivers of Spain
Our Salvation is Nigh
Encrusted through water
Our hope is restored."
And souls! The brave souls
Braced against the tide
Through the mid-December
(As we knew not 
the month nor day)
Harbored there, 
Beneath the air
Buried those poor souls
Between the shore and Bay
It was there 
In the city by the shore
When it was spoken 
But gave no token
In the days yond and fair 
Many years and longer still 
In the forsaken days of yore 
That those men 
Will not have died in vain
"Dust you were created 
Through sand and sin 
And shall you return
To dust again."