Sable Ocean, Raven Sky

Your troubled thoughts you kept hidden that day, Still I could not be free from troubled sleep that night As the fugue of your thoughts crescendo, Somehow they must have reached into my mind, For my dreams were of the scalpel and of slicing flesh,     My dreams were nightmares,     Yet I did not hear the Raven's cry, I believed your unstable emotions came from the unsure, Believed that the morning would bring about the cure, For everyone has felt their soul go unto that place, A shadowed cavern where life stops being precious, Where death shines brightly, becomes the guiding light,     Temptation of a whispered thereafter,     Your own demise, a welcomed embrace; Waking brought not freedom from my troubled sleep, Instead the sunrise brought a misery I am destined to keep, A conscious nightmare I would come to know too well, A race without hope against time already passed, Praying that there existed a higher state of waking,     To release me from this turmoil,     Break this dark and evil spell; All along you knew your fate was more precise Then the cut of chance found in the surgeon's knife, This dark secret lived in silence behind your stare, A darkened plan I should have known was there, That you would force Death's hand with your own,     Walk into a sable ocean on a stormy night,     Beneath the raven sky take your life; For a moment I think I might have known, That thought dismissed as pure insanity -- How could tomorrow not find you there? Now time has been set adrift to float an aimless trail, The future forever altered by the dark and pounding sea,     A sable ocean, a raven sky,     Death's hollow stare in your dying eyes.

Resurrect

For awhile now I've lived a lie, Happiness shadowed by too many sighs, The strength to escape, a distant thing, My love a bird with broken wings, Hiding like a child deep inside; Yet I strive to find one shred of hope, That I might escape the coiled rope, Find a spark to shatter the growing dark, Burn the misery from my heart, A chance to ascend the looming slope; And from the darkness deep within my mind, Despite the chains of Yesterday's confines, From the smoldering ashes of my crucifix, I rise to become my own exorcist, Casting out the demons I'll leave behind; Again I have found myself in me, The magic in which I once believed, A piece of steel that refused to melt, A shield against the pain I felt, A sharpened sword I have retrieved; Now pushing away the final shards, From a crystal cage once diamond hard, I set upon this journey long awaited, Back to the life I once traded, A chance to draw a better card; From behind the barrier I did erect, I emerge from a life I must reject, Invoke the magic of the ancients, Wait a time in silent patience, Knowing now, I'll resurrect.

Toy Fight

They fight over the toys, never ending since time began, this last as measured by Man. So short a time, so arrogant still, this ownership of the toys. And determined by ancient manuscripts, writings both published and lost, obscure and contradicting, toy ownership is granted to each in turn. So fight they must over these contested toys.

No mere children when it comes to the spilling of blood, the taking of life, but in reasoning and thinking they are but babes in the woods. The Gods, the Gods they cry, have given mandate, providence unto our claims. So they say, both sides the same, the madness a saturated thing that has crawled throughout the players, this need, this drive to control the toys and win the game though it cost them, the price never too high.

The Word Is Broken

The Word is broken at the first and the last,
vows once spoken, now a dead thing of the past,
the oath eternal in truth not so everlasting,
partners once thought real have fled the field,
though time the promise they no longer stand,
and so the ending a snake that slithered away,
a curtain call that gave forth another day,
the spirit free to roam once more ...

so linger not in past hopes false light,
loiter not in the doorway of yesterday's despair,
idle not, hesitate not, be not chained to the
human heart's propensity to dwell where the
pain grows, focus not on desperate revenge ....

yet what joy vengeance when meted out in
proper fashion, handed out as cold revenge,
knowing no compassion, those human foibles
cast aside, silenced, never heard to complain,
so by demon's hand and dragons breath the apple's
flesh ripped screaming from that whoring bitch,
a gurgled bloody whimper the last sound,
the scratching nails on the coffin the last act
in this play of betrayal that begin as a lie;

Second Site

Relying now on second sight,
first sight to blind to see,
I travel the darkness to the past,
to find a piece of missing,
a thing once whole now shattered,
to bring forward to this time that it
might set me free.