Forgiven

A thousand lies, within a thousand words — remembered for shalt they be; neither forgotten nor unseen.

Forgiveness, is given and seek — I bring to thee maybe.

What has been brought to light within heart, tis heavier than stones can ever be; yet to show it will never be at ease, it brings daggers to me.

I forgive thee, for what it is. I forgive, for what you see. I will ever give forgiveness.

 

Lie

To trust with all your very being, secrets untold and never shared; Yet, within an instant vanish.

You spoke of such beautiful lies of love and an eternity, where you never vanishing — yet those very emotions you put to words vanish and all, and to which I trusted disappear.

You told of the stars, the moon and oceans — I believed in them, whilst wondering of an eternity; I know now.

I was ready to wait for you, as long as you still loved me — I guess even the very best people you trust lie and vanish. What was taught to be never ending emotions twas nothing but a beautiful lie.

That is life, in which it is nothing but a lie.

Now I am made, the heartless and hopeless. Tears shed, and betrayed as always.

Thank you, for the beautiful lie.

Brave

Is it to be brave, or is it to be foolish?

To hope within a world filled with hopelessness? 

Where presence is not but a mere fragment of a being; still to be filled with life and survive.

To believe in ones lies, as it is bravery in your eyes — or am I blind? 

Yet, I still hope — for you to be burdened free.

In which I ask, am I brave or am I foolish to stay within this beautiful lie.

Lovers

To love, yet not loved.

To care, yet not cared about.

Is that thy fate, child of light the awakener of dusk?

To be fed lies within each midnight, to consume and to unendingly be consumed by thyself; a cycle which neverends and a sin that shall never be freed.

You whom are to feed thy envy, yet to watch thyself be destroyed by what was fed by them? Within the body lies awake, for the eyes that see and seek within lines; forebode thyself lies.

Whom do you wish to wait for? to what savior would cometh for you? None, will see you, none will think of you and none will ever feel for you.

O’ dear child, within your twilight of dusk shalt be your domain; Whilst, awaiting shalt you walk endlessly through time.

But to you I ask? shalt you be free?

Children

Thou, dawn and dusk as they beckon atlast, between mornings delight and midnights lies.
Made dews of dawn, and ashes of dusk; cometh the child of wax — they of union as one. Between ones of twos, kept between the halves of life long over true; Birth of worlds made two within one, weakened and spared none.

O’ dear child of wax, has made of thy birth to be as you see — Never to lay nor feel the morning sun, neither the cold nights bathing under moonlight.

Skin as whiten snow, heart so pure; to step within the presence of the suns glow, shalt thee waver and melt as slow — Oh woe, such miserable fate made felt and go. Whilst, within the presence of the cold midnight moonlight, thou art consumed by frost bitten souls, made frozen and to never let go — Oh woe, to such a fate made for you child of wax, eyes of ashen snow.

To what purpose are you made to be ? as you see, nothing but grief? To suffer, within the midst of morning and night; safe within none but the presence of time.

Doth thou feel? art thou souls kindred and free? Between dawn and dusk, to whom you are made to believe this exsistance made dread yet humble you are to be.

Kings

O’ olden king, you’ve whom lived a life of suffering; Not known to any the burden of trials made to be by you, for you — Within the ocean of thy servants, thou art made to solemnly smile and stand proud for the crowd.

Olden king, doth they know of

thy suffering ? doth they know of thy misery ?

Tis’ the fate of you, O’ olden king; knowing as it is so, would you still stand for centuries to come and go? Would you change the fate that has been put upon thy so true ?

Thy servants may turn, thy kingdom may falter and fall, would you still do so ?

If it is as it is, then rise O’ olden king from the once calling of graves made hollow and of ash — may they follow. You olden king bounded by thy olden crown

 

 

Spy

I see the looming, pitch black grace of my ashen grave.

To think of as I’ve mellowed upon my life lines — not, never and gone.

Found I have, yet lost I feel; For the pieces they fit yet scattered more than to think.

You the light that beckons delight, I feel as if it is right; Yet not felt you are.

Have I gone asunder to what was right under; Beneath this skin I await — smouldering and sunder; like thunder.

Seemingly so, I am no — behemoth of the east I am to be. I who am without voice, yet only to paint black and white; To put ink to pen and pen to paper.

I am petrified, for what has happened defines, I who was once and now am. I made to suffer eternity — for I know what has becometh of I that once was gold. A child who knows no, nothing.

I wish that to be true, for you who I knew. Fragmented I am, nothing but to them; hatred fills me regret I do not. A few I have, nothing lost for ‘Is it a sin, to not want to lose:’ for I think it is.

Beat by beat, I count to see and hear it is; I know what has never followed — I chased yet I am not wanted to be chased for.

I am to wish, to wish upon myself — the feelings I feel unrequited they are, felt they were but yet nothing has cometh to I; who suffer — to he who suffers, I see no dawn await you for thee are not of I and me.

Lay bare upon this world, and rip this maelstrom from within — I wish not of this, I wished upon you for a glowing glimmering glow. Take it away, take this which was once lost — I know not what to do for this is true, it hurts more that jagged knives of heaving eyes, I spy.

I’ve wander. forever yet never.

To which the questions I’ve once asked, where ? yet answered they were.

Yet why do I die, every night. This sight petrifies I who have not even wander as far as the light. I still follow, why? to which I ask.

I the final line, the descendant of the light; he who sorrows in fright — undenied of his right. Why do I seekth? Why do I seethe? End I who am be.

I who sorrow, for thee.

 

Eye

To act is to be fine,

Believed by many — sighed by none.

Vivid smiles, and petrifying nights — I cry deep inside of this act never ending, sights.

The tears for they do not flow, nor do they go.

For my time is nigh, doth not see my sigh of signs that I make believe to night.

Deep inside it urkes me; very honestly it be. I say as I may, unknowingly I am becometh nothing but a heath.

As fine as this act may be — it consumes me you see, the whispering shrouds of insecurities.

Laid bare I am; Consumes self aware.

Time

I am the clock that ticks — but does not talk.
I ring — but I am made not to wrong.

I am to sing — yet I am not to be sung.

My clockworks spin from within, yet it is not spun from without — Ticking ever so lightly, as mere dreams and surreal fantasies.

My hands made bind — My mind repeating to obey by time.

I know not where thy lie, upon this fragment time — for I the clock whom reaps and repeats.

Over, over — and over, I ask. Where doth thy lie ? for I search yet thy hide.

 

 

 

Within

I seek, the end of this unending maelstrom.

It wither and wains within, as it does twist and turns — like tides it crashes upon my very being.

Within me it dines, festering and feasting upon my very heart. In its presence, the air thickens — with it, the weight of the world upon my chest and the fading of the light from my sight.

Gasping and grasping, I am made to be, to do and to see — Air.

When ? I ask — When will it end ?

Numb it makes me, yet pain I feel.

Made to long I am, for……