Wednesday, February 15, 2012


I sit here, alone, here on my bed,
Steel in my hand, pain in my skull,
My only company are the floating notes,
And the Twenty-two voiceless strings,

Uniform cast aside upon the floor,
Paperless book, dormant, asking for life,
A soft banshee hum and clicking of keys,
Brutal light stinging my eyes.

This is the norm, my constant,
Alone here with my thoughts,
Noone here to bleed and weep,
From the razor-point of my tounge,

No expectation to change,
From this dormancy,
Perhaps this is the way it is,
This permanancy.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


What is this madness?
A designated moment of affection,
In memory of holy Immolation?
We stand for this mockery?
This trampling of a sacred ideal,
In it its place somthing unreal?
Disease runs rampant and trust runs thin,
Lust flows thickly, though quickly,
Through these sickly streets,
Filling our nostrils with its vile stench,
Walking corpses fill the walks,
The air rings with their nonsensical talks,
Words of Love and Fidelity,
Though hollow, lacking reality,
All this said, I know these things to be true:
Love, genuine, love be real,
With it ye never need lie, cheat, nor steal,
It's currency is absolute,
Though more rare than the most precious of gems,
It carries on through all toils,
Despite all obsticles and attempted foils,
It gives you wings to soar,
And gives somthing to live for.
Though love be true,
Though I have seen it's mark,
I fear that I know not it's face,
And have done my part for said disgrace,
I plead forgiveness for these sins,
And hope that a new path, now, begins.
May you all, and I, ond day,
Find our One.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Rising Son

Rising son,
New light in thes world now born,
Young life brought up in the shadow of the Cross,
At an early age torn asunder by unexplained expectation,
Though, by existance, an aberration to the sire,
By birth, the key to the bearers games,

Loved and Unloved,
Wanting nothing more than youthful bliss,
But no longer ignorrant of years' since conflicts,
Unintentionally and purposefully pushed aside, rage begins to set in,
Darkness crawls into the pores, and deficates aggression,
Though, while wholeheartedly destrcuctive, it remains unseen,

Thruth was spoken,
Tales of lives lost and of lives spent,
Fleeing sire leaving fearful youth in bearers clutch,
And in solitude, freezing winter, and starving summer,
Begain the turning, the creation of arms for vengeance,
Many a lie hense was spun in that creekside hell,

Angels and Demons,
Creatures of old best left in the realms of Fae,
Brought into clear focus, breeding pestilence and hate,
Four moons hense spent grinding the blade, fining the tine,
The weapon burning with firey hate and destructive rage,
Such fire only possible through careful coaxing,

An Unholy challenge,
With no base for claim, only a platform of demonic lies,
A darkened son moves to eclipse the sire,
Throwing tainted words of God and dear Jezibelle,
Amid this tiny, ignorrant storm the sire is unmoved,
And with words of power breaks the demons hold,

The son lies broken, a useless weapon of vengeance,
The world is shattered beneath small, unknowing feet,
All he wants is to play soldier and knight,
But there will be no more time for play, for the poison remains,
And the inner-child is the first to die,

Whispers in the night,
An unheard voice in the back of the mind,
Somthing primitive, somthing faint and forgotten,
Through cracked, dead lips comes this voice,
Silently spoken, but filled with commanding power:
"Where is my mommy?"