These wishes and these dreams
grow brighter every day -
to hold the future in mine eyes
and block the lies I face -
this is my curse -
my past -
and my future.
To see you from afar -
not able to touch you
how I want to -
the way I know I should.
You are my destiny,
yet covered neath the clouds
sheltered from this sun of civilization.
If only we could gather this strength to be together -
the moon our house of life for all eternity.
Each time I write I swear within myself that it shall be the last.
And I always find that it is -
for every time a portion of me dies -
a new is reborne of the ashes within the candle flame.
The phoenix brings a new life and a new blessing to this adventure -
this calling of the darkness within.
Yet why are some afraid?
These demons would not be so placid if angels shall not seek the same haven.
And dreams - what shall be made of these?
Was ever a more glorious cause than the achievement of such desires?
What shall we know in the end,
all has happened already.
The oranges, pinks, and purples melt away any leftover desires -
for a new day has begun.
This morn shall be just the first in a series, a life, of sweet dreams
and beauty yet undiscovered.
To touch the stars, or heaven herself, shall be yet one more past time,
just another beckoning call,
already answered.
These dreams which we hold on to in an attempt to prevent change -
They will effect it -
They are the moon's desire to outshine the sun -
outdo the competition of her own split apart.
For where else could she turn to, if not the glories of humanity?
The core of spirituality?
The renewal of a lost religion?
The adding of one more sacrifice?
Would you volunteer?
I have yet to feel her here lately.
She seems to have temporarily dissipated
from within my mind.
But then, don't we all sometimes?
I still hear her voice echo
somewhere
in the back of my mind
occasionally,
but it's all things she's said before -
or nothing which manages to secure a concrete form.
I hold onto hopes on one level that she may be gone.
Yet I know that, were she, it would be very lonely here in hell tonight -
same as every night.
I believe that she lives, in part, within me,
yet how could she be so hard to find?
My dreams lately turned to a black sort of nothingness
where I know not what happened come morn.
And I desire more.
I wish to recall those eras
when a spirit was sought after with praise,
perhaps reverence, but in a decent manner.
Those times that her voice within my mind would be but a blessing -
now likened to a sweet curse - no dream lest a nightmare.
And this circle brings the full spectrum back to the light,
pulled from the shade.
Tell me, sweet seraphim, where are you today?
Where do your dreams end?
When may mine start to begin?
I cease to understand
this feeling within my body -
for who could create such a force
of sheer hatred and pure hollowness?
I allow the thoughts within my head
to wander
but for a minute,
for how else could I recreate
this emptiness -
the touch of your warmth
against my pale skin?
And laying next to you -
the blood-stained flesh,
who could have guessed
it was me who was dead?
My soul rotted through
from the taint of tomorrow -
My hatred the only emotions
I am left to know.
The presence of this anger
left within the world,
yet without my self
- my being -
my hollowed shell
of chaotic discoveries.
I release these tensions upon you -
I hold the binders,
bound to none.
And the only prison I see
is the one I tried so hard to erase,
the same as I create.
Your world is black and white,
pure with hatred and fright.
To be scared of the unknown,
the unwanted,
the uncalled for moments in life
when those things least expected earn respect
by occurring strictly within this echo of paradise.
These dreams are of peace within the pain -
ice in the volcanic ashes of hell's mighty lavas.
These dreams echo forth the insanities
on which humanity flourishes.
The blackness of this world places her cold hand upon my shoulder,
the blood seeping between us as the veins chill even more.
The ice cold dreams grip my reality
as I see the future all too pale and glazen with frost.
The deserted pains once abandoned become a new collage of excitement.
Close your eyes, my child,
and slumber of these better days.
For soon the moon shall return
and - soon - the clouds will play.
The clouds wept tears from the heavens the night the sorrows bore our fruit.
I laboured through the hours, forgotten of my own accord.
The self-exile I complacently placed myself within the walls of echoed the trials of a generation's pain.
The pain of all I lost in the end being the only justice upon which I could bare to foresee the past.
The only triumphs we have yet to face being the chaos of this world -
this century lost within the cries of battle; the echoes of war in this fantasy.
My eyes held onto the blood of all my sorrows,
the tears of my hatred pulsating beneath this rotten hide.
And who am I to judge ye?
For how else could one escape the past -
the echoes of insecurities and displeased murmurs.
The senses wild with the sounds of desertion and devastation -
the pure meaningless insensibilities.
Do you realize the pains suffered within your name?
The volumes of pain with your hatred, your heart, your core of being.
Yet the love overthrows all else -
If only the love were known.
What is the justice of a world which does not elicit change?
What past desecrations must be caused to surface yet again?
The days of remembrance lest we forget,
yet here we start fresh, begin anew -
Same grievances -
louder voice -
Sometimes -
Others a faint whisper -
Why shall all be condemned in the name of one?
For who judges that evil which destroys this civilization?
The civilized manner of destruction we pursue?
The continuance of a million years isolation -
various societies -
religions -
races -
are we not all but the same?
The pain placed upon our past
and the tortures facing our future.
We destroy the only possible forgiveness sought
by moving forth into the echoes of this weak insanity.
Green envious dreams cloud the skies of fortune.
The forestation of the desert just begging to be planted.
The ruins of the future, yet to be built.
And the pain of forgiveness - the fires it would melt.
This weakness is but bodily for how could a soul be so flawed?
But beneath these stars we see our fortune
- our past - our future -
our only path leading within a circle.
This oval of impurities - this triangle of quests.
Why choose a path - just let go
and the dreams shall decide their own simple fate.