Rough and Unpolished

While nothing is ever set in stone when it comes to me and my writing (I even change old works to bring them more relevant to my new experience and mood, though I do try and save an original copy as well) this is something that I was working on tonight. I'm not exactly sure where I am going with it nor where it is coming from, which for me is a little unusual. Here a glimpse of a rough draft (by the way titles are always the thing I do last if at all):

as we walk shrouded in white fog
with diverging hearts and minds
we whisper lies to each other.

the wide river besides us rises up
as if to cleanse our mortal fallacies,
but is lost to our blinded eyes.

for it is in the valley of spears we
walk without shoes while bleeding
from unfeeling feet.

hidden doth the truth stay
for it is not truth we wish for
but our own delusions of reality.

the dying light

cold steel rends flesh and bone,
dripping red beads down metal blades,
raining crimson tears upon the ground.
life’s flow ebbs from its mortal shell.
In the stillness silence prevails.

in our reckless greed we hold tight,
even as the sands of life slip away.
lost in a twisting emptiness while
snow falls covering all scars.
And the world fades to night.

in the harsh light of truth is seen
the fields of spears where fallen
remain, forever locked in battle.
souls sundered from this world.
Sightless eyes to bear witness to all.

River Styx

In pale moon light
by river’s dark edge
awaits the ferryman.
In right hand’s grasp
An ancient oar rests,
Used and worn it
Shines with lost runes.

By the creaking boat
Lay a sack of gold on
The jagged shore.
Undisturbed by prying
Hands for who would
Ever steal from the
Ferryman of the river
Styx.

Two copper coins,
Two silver coins,
It matters not
For any two coins
Grants passage,
But alas there shall
Never be a return.

I am

For I am death
The destroyer of worlds
The death of the mind
Strangled and starved
Burned by my own hand
By my own desire
Locked in infinite cycles
Unrelenting
Indifferent

For I am life
The creator of worlds
The birth of new ideas
Nourished and flourished
Grown by my own hand
By my own will
Ever changing cycles
Unrelenting
Unstoppable

For I am human
The great destroyer and creator
Hanging between life and death
Living and dying in the same breath
By fate’s illusion and will’s fallacy
In this thin veil we call life
Unrelenting
Human

心

here i sit in a world of darkness,
without a candle to light my way,
is there such a thing as innocence
or is it just an illusion of ignorance?

Randomness

A Dying Breath
The Lasting Word
A Dead Man Lying
The Sightless Eyes
A Longing Wish
The Ghostly Smile
A Taunting Memory
The Lost Tear
A Dead Man Lying

Why

Sometimes I think that I live just for the experience of being alive. To expand my mind as I have of late, to sense new and familiar things, to laugh the loudest and at times shed tears. In many ways I am just stating a truth, even though I have come to believe that the closer we come to the truth the further away we truly are, but if one takes the first statement at face value then one has to ask what about all the other times? Is it that I am dead and thus not living to be alive? To me, living just for the experience of being alive are those moments when you have transcended all of societies norms, mores, values, and constructed realities and when one can just step back and say "wow." This is by no means easily and it’s just as possible that I have never ever been truly able to shed all of society’s constraints as honestly it does create my reality for me. But there are times will I can just be in wonder at it all, not aimlessly or at the majestic beauty but of just how un-comprehensionable it truly is.

Why is it that we dream?
Is it to see the promises of tomorrow,
or does it reflect events of the past.
Will I dream my wishes and desires
or do I embrace the shadows?
Why must I dream when it hurts
and why must I seek the meaning
in the dreams of yesterday when I
still must find the dream of tomorrow?