Waves of grace that
I'd never come to embrace.
Swaying in pace, arms
down to hands held so safe.

Waves of a morning's wake,
as eyes encompass one more smile.
And speak as sleepy as a

Unleash all the tainted reserves of love
Inside, interwoven traces turn into pieces.
An illustrious desire to acquire one's
innocent grove, becomes an infatuated fool
eating prickled roses.

The coming of the son,
over the horizon a sunset
compromises the only one.

Bloodprints, engraved
within the dampened ground
to whom no man can claim.

No such flesh, none

Carrying away misgivings, insecurity
the clear creek always consumes.

Haughty held acheivements
of now distasteful shrine
drift lifelessly, sinking slow.

As the rain falls
solace in anything
defeats the thunder.

As the rain falls
my temper turns
to hunger, for nothing
escapes God's clamor.

As the rain falls
drenched, so cold

Intermittent wiiiiind.
I will
unwind.
Fortitude
to
conceeeal
away from thee.
Disparaged.
Encouraged thee!
Hey, you have eyes
thine in tune shine, sunlight

Nights spent in your feeble stake,
in this world there's no room for
the weak, of staggering acrimony and ache.

Yet you carried on, obliged by weary smiles

Commonplace to reach the end of this
contrite way, isn't it? Crying in arms,
hands held wholly, and scars like
flushed cheeks, implosive to the touch.
Memories of you my brother, the grey

I see the past like a blooming rose.
Youthful and blushed, with an astonishing,
superfluous joy, as memories of you are
kept like mistrust of the creditor and his
pupil's fragile woes.

Let the pure fire flourish and nourish, ye artisian.
The blue flames, fercious and tame, your hands,
your arsenal! Ye artisian the reach of your

I'd seen you and your seperate,
gradual withdraw and repression.
From us, the family
the promises you'd said
were made to keep.

Yet, above this hanging tree,

Closed eyes, capitalist consumption
withered away my most fervent
of dreams.
Bloodshot.
Opportunism in the land of
Opportunity.
One of many whims,
insidious, intertwined

At the end of this road.
The end, this end, this
must be the cease of
a beating heart.
Pumping, closing, opening
relieving, adreneline
craving soul. I'd sware I'd

I've lusted for your forget,
all to no such avail.
Indignantly, I dig through
citadels of regret, malice,
and my tendency to always fail.
Take the short end, reduce it to

In the spring, the time of the nausea, the ringing
Complancency is suppressed by melodic singing
However confined I may be, I hear, not see
The voices of languages far beyond me