Shattered Glass

The voices are like vines,
tripping and choking thoughts.
Solitude is non-existent,
only in desire.
Feelings are like fear,
as one doesn't know what to do with them.
Words are empty spaces,
meant to counsel.
The reflections in the mirror are shattered,
to hide you from yourself.

Blackend

Life is but an illusion,
hanging from a wall.
What once was, will never be,
what is, will never become.
As i sit in my mental isolation,
i can't help think of my anihalation.
Alone i sit, behind a wall,
a wall of thought, misunderstood by all.
My world is blackend, nothing more to see,
blackend, looks whats left of me.
Come a little closer, look into my eyes,
do you see the fire, in my skies?
The light is shinning through,
nightmares about you.
Dreams are my compainionship,
why don't you get ahold of it.
My world is blackend, nothing more tosee.
blackend, looks whats left of me.
Your minds are inraged,
to you, life and death are not the same.
come to me, and you will see,
never more, not tonight,
it's not the same, everythings alright.
Blackend, blackend.
Look whats left of me.

Testamony of The Beast

The wolves carry my name,
in their midnight speaches.
A voice much closer to home,
shouts into my heart with unholy impatience.
One thousand and one moons,
hung overhead.
I'm growing old,
soon i shall be dead.
I have found the gates,
that lead to the otherside.
Standing atop temples,
built to the gods.
The testimony i preach,
shall be learned.
All i have seen,
shall be heard.
For the chaledon's roam free.
I have found fear,
i have raised the dead.
Things subjected,
only unto me.
The book of the Black Earth,
is now my home.
Waiting and dreaming,
for my departure.
The ancient ones,
tell of tales.
Of the beginning,
for which i have seen.
Close all gates,
as the vapor of death,
shall toll my bell.
The chaledon's roam free.
The chaledon's roam free

The Passing

the shallow halls are silent,
memories of distant past come forth.
screams of laughter and hate invade the mind,
but what once was a terrible accident.
shall soon come to rest for on this spot.
he did say the chosen words,
that made him what he is today .
the invisible guest, the poet, the martyr
but his spirit lives on for in these
halls he once spoke,
words from the heart now that heart
is divided no more shall it be one
as the visions of the past arise,
may he rest in peace,
with closed eye's he was a poet,
of all sorts romance, laughter and horror
but in the end, he was a man, with clouded vision
his feelings were spilled in blood
on the parchment of space everyone
read what he wrote, letting him slide on a high note as time went on,
he sat there and watched people wanted more,
they drained him dry he left for a crusade
the personal kind and when he came back,
all his friends were few to find...
so he laid his head to rest,
one cold and lonely night when his eye's closed,
they closed for the last time.
now all i said is true i say
ghost writer walks his way,
he may come in from time to time,
but then again, i may be lying.
who know's what this man will do,
not even i, his other you.

The Candle

Lightning crashes as the rain blows,
shadows appear from nowhere.
To dance like ghosts.
You awake to the cries of a child,
to light a candle and go see.
Everyone's sleeping,
and you smile down upon thee.
Smoke from the candle rises up to follow,
slowly behind.
Lightning crashes, the wind howls loud,
temporarily your blind.
Candle light flickers,
streams of flowing wax.
As you lay your head to rest,
you just know.
Happy to see the candle lit your way,
tomorrow brings another day.