trinity-defiled

So what's this feeling I feel, every time I see your face - I can't describe what goes on inside of me when I hear that song I can't explain why I feel so dead when I can't feel you with me. Tell me what's going on inside, when I can't sleep at night when my mind wreaks havoc on my heart with machinations of burning hell- tell me this feeling I feel, after a night of cruxifiction's and weeping waking up to everything and nothing, because your dead and I feel it was me. Would I have been there would it have changed? would I have never sinned would you still be dead? I can't explain my murderous convictions at the warring of sorrows

beautiful Dear love, I saw a rose today, floating in the breeze, arrogantly pretending as if it weren't held down by a thorny green stalk: almost if, defying the laws of gravity. It held so much beauty in its delicate white form, it encompassed love, solitude, passion, freedom......captivity. As it stood in that section of the garden, a single beauty against the mangled mess of tangled vines and overgrown boughs, silently begging me to mourn for its beauty. Not, so much its own but itself belonging to beauty. As the tempest above raged I was torn between standing; and watching it as eternity waited upon me and running to find suitable s

nd now - in the dawn of my life was awakened in the depths of my heart the phoenix, of my soul- rebirthed after every fiery death symbolising the end of a chapter, and the begining of an era. A new life a new love - a pseudo existence in overlaping planes of fantasy - And it makes my heart bleed - but oh! how it makes me breath, taking in the sorrow and joy as they walk hand in hand, secret lovers in the yoke of night; contrasting and repelling, making love only that much sweeter - For the time will soon come riding on winds fury, stirring the tempest's and mixing-in the wrath of the Gods to fall upon an unfortunate soul -

- Of when and how and what of now... And there he sat in all his pompous pompocity upon his wooden throne, a shrine. Posed in an almighty stance - the mighty deer's ever boastful, perenial stance to prance, With a wish for silence to imprison us all; he took it upon to impose - his 'oh so glorious' song. And then so it began, an over ambitiuos man, master of naught an art but his own - playing dreadful soliloquy's of equestrian tragedies. Am I naught to be but an observor of destiny weaved by the path of illustrious life called me? In the dawn of thorns and clouds of thunder and thor's; above all else but never above yours: a