When birds no longer flyOutside,one thousand lights suddenly appeared with the passing of the sun.I questioned their truth at the base of my tongue, and shouted wordsdeemed fit to explore the lengths of the ocean that Columbus couldn't bring himself to reach.Outside,a footless bird continues its flightwithout landing shan't he falter, growing stronger and wearier by the day.Should he only look up to share my gaze and see for himself the belt of Orion so plainly sprawled in tandem with the belt of the Milky Way,His wings would never carry.
FlowBeauty hath no other formBut that of the way of Grace.Simple standing soundless,Yet nature seeks its raptureAnd revenge itself does torture our souls.With beauty, I find you.Created by solitude, our souls meetBy cosmic views of viscous light,Torn down by dark furyAs nature deems us fit of Hell.But stand not you here, with me.My life sits by the cliff, and winds pushThat landscape forward with motions of divine right,As I freefall without time to make due my duty;Bones break and breath haltsAs a still image of my heart here with yours.Sounds from fire bereave my loss.Beauty hath escaped you, andNature has taken its way.The cosmos speaks, and the world listens quietly.
Requiem of a Forgotten SoldierI bled tears of Grace, with wounded eyes of scars I did seek. Summer morning sun breaks dawn, and bread cracks with mealtime. We had our heads in the air like doves, peace-stung powers of sultry landscapes -- And like wings did we outstretch our arms, sounds of War ceasing on ground. Cold-stained air blew through our prides, and we saw ourselves as winged creatures, ashen and gray with passion for fury on our tongues. And so we march onward into new lands, like followers of forsaken unknown, driving back our senses, and shadowing our fear with glory. We will transcend, and flow as one like water through the sand. Behind us lies nothing, and as we march, we will live inside History, as names and ink. Hold your spirits, and find your steps- and let your blood flow like rock.