wings of air

Cold stares are the finale I came to witness, there my motions surround me out of body. The stale old iron rusting to the humming ending of that is me. The blinds come down, as is the last full moon of the winters. The reflection of my dying wish fade into the cracks, under an ailing bridge for safe keeping. The last letter of comands send to the angel of the heaven, not the seventh but the fifth to carry my soul into the chamber of question asking for the reasons of my reason for that which I have become. I am lifted into wings of air not contious of the thrilling horror that come with judgment. The fusion of isolation as I am placed in solitude. The wimpers of deep dark darkness circle me darker than the darkest night with no moon. Dark as the eye’s of an owl, dark as the hate of deseption, darker than opression, darker than depression, darker that the blood taken of innocent freedom. darker that war, darker that the count of bodies. darker than the feeling of alone. I am there waiting for my turn to speak my truth, and explain my existance to find a reward I may not deserve.

The question of why.

Why does greatness die young, evil dies old.

Why does good hurt, and bad laugh.

Why do dreamers want it all, yet get nothing. Slacker get everything, yet wanting nothing.

Why does love leave when love is a peak of selfless passion.

Why does family hate you when you love them most.

Why are you abandoned at the door when your bleeding?

There are many more questions cruising through memories of a history book lost in the dust of time.

Why do the tear drops of the green eyes go unnoticed by the wavers of the hazel cold lover, gone with the wind of eternity. Never to come back, her eyes froze in time, soul released from ceasur.  Telling the tale of dripping ache.

N.A.

The Mastiff of Love

Snaking through the scales of skin, under the pours, beneath; blood dives of spats. The floors are covered of still stares, shock looms on dawn with the plan to retrieve her goods. The love that was not real, fake of manner, of vow but still owner of her first glare. She appeared as a victim of lust, not the shadow of innocence but the devil within disguise. How can she unravel the plans of deception and win the game of love which is not love but lust in her mind. She can lie; she can tell but with not face will show. Hidden behind the veil of ambiguity, sneer of trickery travel the vanes of mind. Ploy is the game of love. Item of winning, the ownership is the pride of the tribe. Control me no more love, but keep in distance of my eye for I can see your truth coming of light from thunderous skies they wept.

Lord Tell

Shameless justice creeps past me. Enemied by the justice of our land. For there was no justice beneath me, only the shadows of the unjust rules of kings and commands of the commander under his souls of feet. I lay under the sun of the lords which shine the spy on me.
I see the blood of the child seeping through transparently, leaking into the solid rocks to the beds of oceans and rivers of Egypt. The sands of the desert came waling past, running from the truth of the current present they do not want. The want of peace has dies last day to remember, a vigil, a cry and even a tear was down dried by the sun again, spy no tear will fall on the solids and come near the hairs of innocent fallen. We will forget, as commanded and live with no hearts and no souls, no yeses and no no’s no mind and no thought will ever come across again.
The Arabs have arrived with gold, come to gift the knights of New England and prey upon us as we set to tell them their truth and lead them to follow me. Close your eyes and never awaken to your past truths god has given you, taught you the truth which you have forgotten.

I am a lost, Look for me, please. I am alone, I walk the side; no one at glance. The sadness has reaped me. I am broken, I weep the rain. Swallow before you jump…