I have known you through countless years and days.
      I’m not the one who will ever count the hours my dear.
      Tis not the past nor the future that predict the ways,
      It has been chosen and now ours is drawing nearer.
      No bargains were made; no particular path has been laid,
      Yet the time and the path have magically appeared.
      Held fast upon this gyroscope spinning,
      I'm not the one who questions if it's wrong or right.
      Tis no way to tell who is losing or winning;
      Day becomes the master, yet surrenders to the light.
      The Sun keeps burning, yet the moon balances the turning...
      Oh, yes, it is that orb which truly rules the day and the night.
      She alone balances each ebb and flow.
      I’m not the one who brought you to be here with me.
      Tis no way to truly ever understand or to know;
      Blinded in light, blinded in darkness, we cannot see.
      I’m feeling my way to that place that will lead me back to you.
      And, sometimes, Luna’s light illuminates just enough to show.
      I found you trapped within your wondering.
      I’m not the one who came too early or too late.
      Tis no way to calculate your aimless wandering
      I have walked this path in circles searching for the straight
      You held the map to my heart, but didn’t know where to start
      Why would you remain in such a darkness forever and wait?
      I touched you many times 'fore you would feel;
      I'm not the one who does not remember your touch.
      Tis not a question, what is dreamt or what is real;
      Confused by shadows on the wall, predicting as much.
      Drifting through this space how did you memorize my face?
      Somewhere in-between those lines, my dear, I have loved you so much.

Double cTHE RITUALlick here to edit this teTHE RITUAL
The darkness covers me like a shroud
The echoes of the silence growing loud
Thoughts that were once not allowed
fill this void like an angered disorderly crowd
and my existence here has become disavowed

The ringing in my ears strike like a bell
The tolling of my master's lowly death knell
calling all to gather once more in this hell
to hear the mournful cries of his final farewell
severing the tongue from the mouth that would tell

The stench of something filled with decay
The rotting corpses make for a rancid display
The shadows seem to dance the night away
as they revel in the destruction of yesterday
and lead the souls of the sinners astray

The stark awareness of this dreaded place
The lines cut deep across his pale face
The evidence of lies they once tried to erase
still tell the story of his implicit fall from grace
the plague of corruption infects the whole human race

The touch of death's hand heavy and cold
around my throat as his fingers unfold
The admonitions that will never be told
buried forever in the mind that grows old
recompense for all the lives bought and sold

The truth spoken from the forked tongue
The words of the prophets forever unstrung
The hymns of the faithful will now go unsung
the tolling of the hours against the bell being rung
death is the lie whilst truth is wasted on the young

The ground began to trembled in pain
Rising out from the womb of the earth,
A thickening mist, a rising rain,
Cleansing the air and sands of her birth.

Slowly she breathes, the air cold and still,
‘til I could make out her silhouette.
Filled with a life that no man can kill.
A vision for all, so none forget.

The beauty of which, no one can see,
In half-remembered dreams she remains.
The mist evaporates, sets her free,
She raises her hand and breaks the chains;

The chains that bind our heart and our mind,
Leaving the key to open the door,
Enter each room and hoping to find
Our own path that leads into the vapor.

Ethereal mist becomes a cloud,
rises above the loftiest dreams,
Where she seems lost ‘neath her misty shroud,
Remember - nothing is as it seems.


I went walking alone, through the woods today. The sound of limbs cracking beneath each step. I came upon a strange and endless stairway, Where I listened and heard her, as she wept. I could not see her, she was so far below, I wondered who she was and why she cried. I called to her, answered by the echo of my own hollowed voice, as it replied. At once, I began stepping downward into An endless and most ominous descent. I looked back at the mist I had passed through, Her cries never closer. Deeper I went. Onward I descended, still calling to her, Deeper and deeper into this abyss. The wood in the mist now becoming a blur, Now sure that something here has gone amiss. I stopped my descent and looked back where I’d been. I began from nowhere, no end down below, Down through mist, ‘tward her cries, over and again, The stairway gone above, downward I’d go. I realized I was lost in my despair, The echo of cries were noone’s but my own, I was lost in my emptiness, no-one there, The stairway buried ‘neath brush overgrown. In the abyss, the chasm of my own making, I feared this was the place we all come to die. Yes, this was my choice, I knew I was taking, Then I sat down and began to cry.

The moment you cut your finger, you place it in your mouth and draw the blood - and you do this subconsciously. The taste is metallic yet sweet and earthy. Nothing about this seems odd or disgusting - a natural response to your own bleeding. 
Today, we fear the transfer of disease through blood and other bodily fluids. Pause for a moment and consider how often you have exchanged these fluids - though kissing, love-making, licking your fingers after placing a delicious bite of cake into his/her mouth. During all of these actions, and more, we have tasted their blood in one way or another. Why then, would the ritual of puncturing a finger tip and placing it into your lover's mouth be so profane and disturbing? A simple drop of blood compared to the river of blood in the fluids exchanged in other ways. ​​