A flame to burning bridges.
Pain, pushing me over the edges.
Sight blinded by rage.
Another hopeless war waged.
Taketh this black hate.
Only Death's dark taste will sate.
Welcome the sinners into this hell.
From heavens gates I fell.
Wingless angel, barren of light.
Plucked free of inner fight.
Lay down my weapons.
Wait for the reapings.
Twisting in true denial.
Breeding malice, nasty and vile.
Final step into oblivion.
Time like distance lost to countless eons.

I've always had a fascination with death
First I was afraid of it
Then I longed for it
Now I'll embrace it
Whenever it decides
To come for me
Hopefully not by my own hand
But only time can tell

In a weary series of redundant repetition.
I feel less of a hearty player, but more of
a lethargic field whos reapings are to far from succession.
Evolution happened somewhere along the
way.
Somewhere along the way we forgot there's nothing more powerful than the verbosity of our name.

Before the beginning,
Man said, "This is a world to conquer."
Hence, Man released his word
and it was a resounding,
"I will."
A bright shining beacon
separated the darkness.

This was how it began.

The next day, Man separated
high-minded thoughts from base desires
and called one educated and planned,
the other, trivial and crass,
and made one above the other in ranks.

Morning and evening passed.

On the third day, the desires were gathered
and separated into virtues and vices.
Each had seeds abundant with
the reapings of their own rewards and consequences.

All was good but the darkness and light
were stark. So on the fourth day
Man said, "I will give the darkness flecks of light
and the light covers of darkness
so that everything will have shadows
and shades to cover themselves upon."
And Man saw all was as he pleased.

Then Man pronounced, "I will fill
the virtues and vices with every sort of thing
to feed on according to their kind.
They shall be fruitful and multiply and they shall
swarm and crawl and fly according to their own kind.
They shall become beasts and livestock which
plot and prey on each other according to their own kind."
And so it was on the fifth day.

When Man saw how everything
was as he made it to be,
Man said, "I shall make a god in my own image, he will
be as I proclaim and
be the bearer of my creation. He will be for me
a cause to have dominion over all."

And so on the sixth day,
Man created a god in his own image
to subdue everything. He said to him, "Now, you will
grant me permission to do as I have always done and
in your name, claim glory."

On the seventh day, Man saw all was absolved
and done according to his will.
Man rested and let the name of god
carry the load.

I am the black and white.
All the violence that exists.
The fight in you, or flight of them.

The heat that blood implied.

So never did I think my hate,
would fashion itself well.
Shake me with my soul to slip,
to loose let claret drip.

That kept within a box,
with transparent chains.
Fixed to glassy walls,
hitched with failing reins.

Is my own eye through wich I see
rebirth upon repass.

For this anger does ablige.
This tunnel of no light.
With not a chance i find thee love
As darkness does amass

For pity has not voice in me.
Quarrel or appall.
The child has now gone away,
So up and down i fall.


For If I choose want of greed
The better unto me.
And time much better spent
With all such reapings heed.

So is it then a soul undone?
Most do find it bent.

"my own will'', my choosing time!
With furies made to vent.


thoses yearning  hearts will never do.

They will often sink.

Slink away with time,
And dance to there own tune.

"So Would I then find thee well"?
After this our play.
Wish thee hell and hope again
We meet another day

so to then, you never find
a broken  warreng heart
Will  i find, ii put my hate
Black as coal and unforgiving,
Indistructable.

The thought of you,
The good with flaw,

The me who cannot stay.

Is not the man I wish to be,
And ever cast away.

This old dog out of dogdom,
   in all of bones scattered elsewhere remaining
   to be unseen, hidden in old glory and flushed lives

In all their shapes and sizes they have
   their bow-legs and their collarbones dangerously
   recoiling in and out as if to ****** fully bare
   for me to see -- invisible hands for invisible reapings they go ******* clad else there was wind
    in all rooms winnowing to make good use of
    my time and unhinge the doors to toss them out
    of their senses and into mine
    letting them wear me thin like paint to turpentine,
    in this house that refuses to let go
    of fragrances underneath this cold rondure

I have forgotten how it was to love
    and clad myself fat with flattened foolishness
     not having loved enough to remember their
      weights crushing my bones so dearly feigned
      my eyes and skins love-crumbled and
      positioned to surpass their flow amidst breaths
      held like ******* or my collected body going
      into another's and completely vanishing
      in a thick scent of fluids so virulent and mundane,
       putting a smile on my face and an anchor
      to my wrongness as if to drag along ineluctable
      and loveless down the stream of many names
       i will confess to my first-born son

   so we can fill parks and stare at them once more,
     laughing at how they have broken us.

Withered wings of wanting height,
Soon to die for love of flight.
Here to sound the dreaded call,
Here the reaping at the fall.

We hurried here and quickened there,
But lost our calm to unkept hair.
The goals of all so soon let go,
Unraveled in the wanton glow.

The sound of space roars silent here,
The deafening answer to our turned ear.
Narry again comes the dreaded call,
Bittersweet love to lose the fall.

We shouted and cried with all we had,
Trials and tribulations driving mad.
Formidable strength too young to fail,
Sent packing down through winding trail.

The scent of shame soon loses taste,
Now accustomed to our normal waste.
Few echoes left of binding call,
Few echoes left to remember at all.

The golden light dawns yet again,
Past westward reapings troubled then,
The dirt and ash falls to the floor,
Fiery wings take flight once more.

King Arthur hangs his head in shame
For decorated killers and finger-pointing haircuts sit at his table
But it's not his table; it's a replica of death and tragedy

Confidential files scattered about
Yet their thoughts reside on one matter:
The death of all those who don't
The alpha of this pack demands deliberately thought out body counts

Yet one man has a different plan
One man wants a simpler course of action
Dim lights cast a blue spell upon them
This one man eyes up a big red button
With a skull and crossbones for a logo

He demands that the alpha uses his head
Or otherwise risk a global catastrophe that only affects them
This one man demands we use our heads and send out heads of war
Do you use your brain to break boards?

A deadly notion elevated to a tragic limelight
Heads of war that have no eyes
Staring at men, women, and children of another place and time
Heads of war that have no soul
Demanding those of others like the scythe of Death
And yet that very scythe has a purposeful master
For what purpose can be had in mass-reapings?

The men in their war room drink and laugh in the name of Ares
And Ares looks back at them unfulfilled
Unsatisfied
This is the war room
Where men choose other men to die and suffer in the name of the alpha