Now the sun has gone away
I'm home again, in darker lands,
Where faces of the shadows prey
On distant memories of these timeless trails.

Hidden fragments of the light still blows
On and past old tombstones;
As they sleep beneath all that the world's become
Into a land where they are one.

No one laughs and no one cries
And no one mourns a sad demise;
No one cares for wounds and tears
Or for all they've been throughout the years.

Blindness walks these lands unscathed,
At the hour of darkness, but never too late
Forge memories of bygone times
Forever craved for, now never denied.

Immaculate seeds of the present
Come, embrace our vanities;
Lay your icy hands upon our wisdom;
Bring with you, your astute kindness,
Along with it, your morbid cold.
Shower our feet with benign smiles
As we step into a world unknown.
Sing songs of quiet, virgin melodies;
Silence these voices to numb serenity.
But when you next place your venomous feet
Upon footprints that lead to estranged grounds
Into farther lands of the young and old,
Save honesty a fairer share,
As you fade gently into the heart with slow despair.

Dear winter sands, come now behold
These prayers of mercy for the dawn's revelation.
He is tired now with thoughts that don’t become;
Please efface this cup of yesterday’s delusion.

Save my words with changes none
Before this day to night becomes;
Let the ones loved be forever so,
Let them last till this day is no more.

Like you choose for summer, a winter’s night;
And for darkness, the dawn’s first light,
Subject the present to your subtle elusive slaughter,
And spare these children who knowingly falter.

The trees i thought did cover
A hazy mystery behind it's leaves;
Draped in yellow, she stood there waiting,
For the blind child of destiny.

She searched the lands of poisoned deliverance,
But not a single one did speak
Of an ethereal fire that had eluded her,
That she, for centuries craved to seek.

She searched in the pain and toil of labour,
In the sound of the ocean's roar;
When she found nothing but a little voice inside her,
She shut hope's brittle doors.

The next morning she woke to a blinding light
And a voice that echoed low;
The doors swung open, they shrieked and howled,
And the wind began to blow.

"I am the face of the shadow of truth,
I'm the fruit of your persistence.
But I'm just an illusion, you can find my reflection
At a time none can comprehend."

She sat there pondering for a while, till she cried,
Still looking for pieces of her stolen elation;
But it was all in vain, not a speck remained;
It was all confiscated by her still coveted illusion.

Away with the sun; I have had enough
Of offering and pleading to this unwanted cup.
I will drink from a goblet of my own dark colour;
I’ll find it, I don’t need your help, dear endower.

Armed with lament from the words of the past,
Of words that concern or jealousy cast,
I search in hope for an angel to come,
But they are all just precious, immaculate none.

So I walk my way back to the enchanting cup.
But this time I’ll just watch, while some others come
And sip from the beautiful, unclaimed goblet,
As I smile, still thirsty, at the final call of death.

In the darkest of hours,
before everything was new,
all was cramped into nothing no one knew.
nothing in plenty, nothing in few,
all had nothing with nothing to do.

then the day had finally come
when time would start it's desperate run.
a journey in stillness ,with the present done,
and the footprints of the past, forever numb.

no day before this had ever seen
the beauty of the night through the oceans sheen.
no night before had ever seen the moon,
but all this and more just waited for soon,
their beauty would meet in familiarity their doom.

then people were born , a few thousands from two,
and they looked and prayed to the yellowing moon.
they searched in hope for a second sun,
but about this they were mannered, kept mum.

searching in vain till their insane minds crumbled,
they killed the ones who against it mumbled.
a price mankind would have to pay,
for the search that will end when death is at bay.

some things remain at their best untouched,
fed by thought and music’s lust,
meant to transcend all that can be said
about the unborn living and the living dead.

The blindest of kings, the fairest of all,

What have you planned as death towards us crawls?

Is there light that can see through the walls of time,

Before the unseen river upon us shines?