Price of This Lore.

You do not know,
What you are asking for,
And I can not show,
The price of this lore,
The knowledge of the hidden,
In the dark and deep,
This knowledge of the forbidden,
That you seek,
Why do you look,
For something not yours,
Searching every bent and crook,
Searching behind every locked door,
You do not know,
What you are asking for,
And I can not show,
The price of this lore,
You are asking the riddles,
More discordant than a thousand,
Weeping bewitched fiddles,
Serenading sorrows to the land,
Your questions are like daggers in my spine,
Digging into flesh and bone,
Searching for answers alone mine,
And pressing old scars to the grinding stone,
You do not know,
What you are asking for,
And I can not show,
The price of this lore,
But if I were to remove the armor,
And to bear my soul, my heart,
Would you be amor,
Or but another Dark poisonous dart,
Would you cut my pneuma,
Use my soul for another pigment,
In your art paints prema materia,
Or perhaps this searching is from another bent,
Perhaps you do know,
What you are asking for,
And that I can show,
The price of this lore,
The price of my passion,
The price of my pain,
The price to fashion,
A heart binding chain,
Between two mortal souls,
Uniting them in life,
Uniting them in goals,
Uniting them against all strife,
The price of pleasure,
Is a strange pain,
Quite in measure,
As victories cost in the slain,

Vis-a-vis the question.

There is someone I care for,
Deep down in my core,
But the question I ask my heart,
“Is this but passion’s dart”,
“Or is it something more”,
“Something deep behind locked door”,
Do I just long with lustful flesh,
To in passion intertwine and mesh,
Or do I want to care and provide,
To shelter and take loving pride,
In my companion, my comrade,
Or is this simply a heart fad,
To be gone in the first storm,
Or when winter drives away the warm,
Would I care for her without beauty,
Or if I lost eyes to see,
Would I care for her if she only saw,
The spots on my soul which are raw,
If she spit upon my pride,
And sinister stilettos of sarcasms,
Cut my heart into chasms,
Would I love her still,
Even if I felt apathy’s chill,
Every time she touched me,
And all warmth, and compassion should flee,
Would I still do my duty,
Would I still be,
A loving honorable man,
And do all that I can,
To honor, cherish, protect, and love,
Her as my gentle dove,
Even if she was a serpent,
With all of hell bent,
On my destruction,
Is it that kind of affection,
If not, I should not act,
But to move away with tact,
But if it is,
Then vis-à-vis,
The question I ask my mind, my soul, my heart,
Shall I play which part?

I had thought

I had though I loved you,
I though maybe you even knew,
But truth be told,
I just wasn’t bold,
I was to weak,
To reach out a seek,
To try to take you as my own,
Now that opportunity is blown,
I’ll never have it back,
As torn heartstrings go slack,
I am alone,
And heart hunger parched like dry bone,
It’s all my fault,
I’m such a dolt,
I wanted be with you,
To walk under moon light new,
To hold you hand,
While walking upon moonlit sand,
To taste your lips,
To embrace your charm's grips,
To breath in your scent,
Oh if only it were meant,
For me to bear,
Your sorrow and your care,
If only it were so,
But alas no,
I did not pursue,
Yes for honor, but also for fear,
Fear of letting one near,
That they might turn away,
When they saw the putrid grey,
Of my wounded heart,
Pierced by many a dart,
And so you will never know,
The affection I longed to show,
But am I making this mistake again,
Or am I wisely avoiding sin?
And am I strong enough to find out,
To brave the wind, and the fury, and the shout,
Of emotion in my soul,
Or will I be alone and black as coal,
Oh which is wrong, and which is right,
Alas I can’t see with mortal sight,
And are thus frozen without decision,
Blinded without emotional vision.
Weakened by heart Neuropathy,
Caused by soul apathy.

Wanted Perceptions

Lord may you bless me,
And help me to see,
Your beauty in the world around,
And to hear in every sound,
The echoes of your voice,
And to feel in every step and every choice,
The whispers of your love, in its eternity,

May I feel in the coarse sands,
And hear in the rustling grasses,
The love of your gentle commands,
May I feel as the wind passes,
And may I see in birds winging,
The glory of your grace,
And the mercy of your embrace,

Lord teach my heart to see,
And let it forever more be,
Your kiss I think of in the rain,
And your protection, when in pain,
May I remember, the lamb slain,
When I see crimson grass, a red grain,
May I see you all around me,

And no matter how tarnished, or tainted,
Since first painted,
This world has become,
No matter how great is sin’s sum,
May I through Satan’s Deceptions,
Pierce with my reflections,
To see through faith my king,

Lord may I see your face,
And feel your embrace,
And hear your voice,
And live according to your choice,
In this world around me,
So that others may also see,
God, the loving creator.

Sorrow likes Company

The pound, pound, pound,
Into the ground,
Of a soul without hope,
Enveloped in darkness upon the slope,
Of sinister sorrow’s sound,

Pounded down by circumstance,
Ground like meal by chance,
Staring blind into bleak futures,
While misery writhes upon sinister sutures,
A ravenous maggot in rot’s dance,

Sarcastic beast feeding upon the mind,
Making mortals to be blind,
To the hope, the light, the joy,
All a sickening ploy,
So that sorrow isn’t left behind,

Oh leave us alone,
Away with your agony pulled moans,
Your broken hearted tears,
Your man breaking fears,
And your drying of the bones,

We will be free,
To become who we aught to be,
Away from pain,
And retched sorrow’s chain,
To be back in the light so we can see.

My Bloody Hands

There is blood upon my hands!,
Every time I break His commands,
I am so weak,
My way is so bleak,
I feel like a child,
Lost and left in the wild,
Who is all alone,
As under tempest and toil I moan,
But I know this truth,
That no matter how uncouth,
I may live and be,
There is still mercy,
For God is still love,
And He watches from above,
And all I must do,
Is repent anew,
For this sin in my soul,
This blackness like coal,
That burns inside me,
Eating light that none might see,
But my Father is merciful,
Who will make me full,
Of all good gifts,
Who will bridge the rifts,
Forged by my sin,
Break these chains of men,
Bound upon me,
That I might eternally be,
His warrior, and His son,
Living with the Father as one,
So father breathe into me,
That I might be,
Resurrected from death,
Give me that living breath,
In double measure,
That efficacy might be sure,
That I might redeem the time,
Wasted in spiritual crime,
That people might see,
In verity,
Your character vindicated,
And sin Eradicated

“My Reason”

It comes like the press of a knife,
Cold and hard against the spine,
This question, of the meaning of life,
As we tread this razor edge so fine,
Teetering on the brink of acceptability,
With our varied actions,
We live well within our ability,
Trying to play both factions,
But no more of this!,
Today I am choosing,
To not miss,
The fullness of giving,
Everything, everything for the right,
I will not creep and scurry in the dark,
I refuse to weakly serve both light and night,
I choose the strongest of all,
I choose to serve love,
And in doing so I can not fall,
As long as I serve my Father above,
And what of my greatest desires?
I will have strength unending,
Crackling hot, like a blazing fires,
And I will never feel dishonor's sting,
For I serve the one who has all,
And He has taken me in,
He has beckoned me with His call,
And purged me from my sin,
Therefore I have my three desires,
And all else is naught,
For they are fuel for the pyre,
From which is bought,
Not by my merits or might,
But by the holy blood,
Of the one who purchased the right,
To cleanse me from sin’s gory mud,
My lord and brother,
Christ, I will serve no other,
This is my meaning in life,
To answer the prick of the knife,
That comes in the dark of the mind,
With cords that bind and blind,
And cast life and vigor into despondency,
Because mortal eye can not see,
The meaning behind its finite life,
And thus ward off this pernicious knife,
What is your purpose your call,
For if you know if not you will fall,
Into service of someone else,
Used to achieve their role,
And it is your life they stole,
I know whom and what I serve,
And may I from my task never swerve.

Icy Armor

There is this emptiness inside,
That I'm trying so hard to hide,
This pain won't go away,
Everything is shades of grey,
Oh why is my heart so cold,
And days seem to grow old,
My life seems without reason,
Like a plant grown out of season,
To wither in the summer heat,
Or freeze in winter's sleet,
Why does this icy heart,
Occasionally start,
And beat a little with care,
Why does it dare,
If only more pain will bloom,
Like a festering rotten mushroom,
Why does affection wane,
And leave behind pain,
In putrefying infectious rents,
As soul is cut to passions bent,
And then abandoned alone in the dark,
With agony blazing, yet stark,
Why do we fall,
To love's gentle call,
When it only exposes the scars,
Burning in black souls like stars,
The only remembrance of mortality,
And reinforcing this depravity,
Yet this love is like an addiction,
A pernicious affliction,
Which I had sworn away,
When the night had its way,
And trampled upon my sensitivity,
And marred me with even greater iniquity,
So I vowed to let none near,
To hold no mortal dear,
And to where this icy armor,
With mail forged of hatred's core,
Yet even still,
With this icy hateful chill,
Something melted and pierced the mail,
And threshed me like a flail,
As its warmth dissolved this armor,
This warmth, called amore,
But even those with greatest affection,
Should remember upon reflection,
That those accustomed to the cold,
Will not be so bold,
To stride forth into the flame,
Nor will they be easy to tame,
So tempt, or temper, but do not burn,
This is the lesson one must learn,
But heaven forbid this thing,
That once thawed like the spring,
That then they should once again,
Be rent, mauled, and torn by sin,
And feel great pain, and hatred once more,
Seeping sorrowfully into their core,
For that would extinguish forever,
A light you can rekindle never.

“Life Bears Flowers of Every Shade”

Life bears flowers of every shade,
Some with beauty never to fade,
Some that last but a moment,
Crowned in glory heaven sent,
Some flourish in the dark of night,
And yet blossom pure and white,
Some have raiment modest,
While others humble the rest,
Some glisteningly sway,
In the mist of a new day,
Dripping diamond drops of dew,
In ecstatic nirvana of the new,
Others hide their beauty well,
Till a gentle wind rises in a swell,
Bringing beauty hid to sight,
But still present even at night,
The fragrant scent,
More glorious than any star-beam's glint,
A pure calming presence,
That is its essence,
But even roses are cumbered with thorn,
Showing that even beauty is torn,
By the woes that abound,
Surrounding the good all around,
"But a rose",
As the Spearshaker's saying goes,
Speaking of its beauty and fame,
"By any other name,"
"Would still smell as sweet,"
Consider the lotus upon the lake,
When before day break,
It sits crowned upon the glass,
Residing before its perish mass,
Giving glory to heaven above,
In tokens of fragrance and love,
Tokens of beauty and grace,
Enshrining glory in its face,
Reflected upon the water dark,
As it leaves its ivory mark,
And what of the lily of the field,
Which wind and tempest doth wield,
Before eye and sight,
Better than any blade may fight,
With its pure slice,
Of zealous intoxication to splice,
Into mortal mind the thought,
Of at what cost they were bought,
A waving symbol of purity,
Reminding men of their iniquity,
And what of wind,
That does send,
Rippling golden hue,
To eye from blossoms new,
As mortals hiatus upon the wave,
Of scent from a million small lions brave,
Dancing upon a field of green,
In a brilliant golden sheen,
And what of the Titan Arum’s bloom,
Whose glory in size can fill a room,
But would leave it vacant,
From its horrendous scent,
Hell bent flower of the dead,
In whom hideous beauty is wed,
But what smells like corpse to man,
Is fragrance sweet to those that can,
Pollinate this king of flowers,
When it plumes up into a rare tower,
Called “corpse flower” for its scent,
Reminisce of body torn and rent,
And left out to rot,
Under bright luminary hot,
But all the flos floris of this life,
Blooming amid peace, amid strife,
Blooming in light of day,
Whether bright or grey,
Blooming in night,
Whether dark with fright,
Or in moonlet scintillating,
As nightingales sing,
Their somber song in glory,
To moonlit matron hoary,
In a duet of song and sight,
To the dweller of light,
Who reigns from the throne,
From which all light is shone,
But in all the flowers of humanity,
Every color, scent, shape, that we can see,
Life comes in every shade,
From the green of a blade,
Of some humble budding stock,
Pressing up from weathered rock,
To the incandescent hue,
Of hellebores enswathed in dew,
And when we pause to remember,
Whether in cold of December,
Or in height of summer heat,
May we always welcome and greet,
The thought that mortal men,
Is like a rose thorned in sin,
Pricking both enemy and friend,
With our pernicious blend,
Of the noble with the ill,
Living guided by mortal will,
But we have been kissed,
By the great horticulturist,
Who reigns from heaven above,
From throne of matchless love,
To be free some day,
From that which otherwise would slay,
Both those who live for the right,
And those who relish the night,
Remember this O’ humanity,
The greatest flower you may see,
On this terrestrial sphere,
Which man holds so dear,
Is the beauty of a life,
Saved from the strife filled knife,
Of the enemies of souls,
Who’s heart is black consuming coals,
For we are saved by the mighty lamb,
The great glorious “I AM”

“Icy Addiction of the Heart”

I am sober today,
In this world of grey,
Sober from my many addictions,
These pernicious afflictions,
But it seems to be,
That only my body is free,
For my addictions are at fingers tip,
Waiting for one foul slip,
I sit staring at this thing,
Feeling a hungering sting,
As my heart calls for it,
And my mind must bear the grit,
And resist my desires,
That rage like fires,
Why must I bear this iniquity,
Inside of me,
Why does all my joy hide,
When silent sin they glide,
This self destructive nature of my heart,
Lusting like self suicidal art,
Wanting what it shouldn’t have,
And not wanting the healing salve,

My soul is loath in me,
Bound in chains you can not see,
Bound in self wrought chains,
Forged links from the essence of pains,
Forged and self wrought in the night,
Poxing flesh like a blight,
So what if I am sober in body,
If deep inside where you can not see,
My heart still longs against sobriety,
And lusts for the kiss of iniquity,
Why Oh, Why did I ever let go,
To slide with the flow,
Down this icy river,
And leave the side of the merciful forgiver,
When chill made my flesh feel warm,
When in fact t'was a deathly storm,
Why did I not head the heavenly call,
Why did I have to fall,
For now the flow beats me down,
As I try to climb its crown,
Back up the mighty fall,
Barring my way like a wall,

Pneuma's Bleeding

My pneuma’s bleeding deep inside,
Soul agony I must hide,
Your blade cut to the quick,
I am loosing my wick,
My vitality slowly congealing,
My mind’s still reeling,
From your sinister slice,
That deleterious dice,
Across writhing through my core,
With wickedness exceeding all of lore,
Why show one affection,
When your heart’s direction,
Is in the opposite way,
As starkly opposed as night and day,
But lust’s luster will only fade,
Now that I have tasted remorse’s blade,
I know your tricks,
Your self amusing pricks,
My love may die,
And my affection grow dry,
But never will I surrender to the night,
Or give up this fight,
Against my past pain,
Against wrongs nearly almighty gain,
Against the pernicious tyranny,
Of those who without honor live,
Who take but never give,
Who have no real might,
No strength, no power, no right,
Who abuse in the name of Eros, or passion,
And into monsters fashion,
Others to get there will,
Even going so far as to kill,
The only happiness,
That another would truly miss,
Roasting innocents upon the pyre,
That they might receive their desire.

Oceans of Emerald Green

Oceans of Emerald Green,

Misty with melancholy sheen,

Dripping soft saline rain,

Upon a lash quivering in pain,

Slow trickle flowing down,

Shimmering like diamonds in a crown,

Tears well up in beauty's eyes,

Making her only more glorious when she cries,

But I can not do a thing,

To lessen sorrow's sting.

The essence of this blog...

This blog will be a combination of my thoughts my feelings, and my ramblings.  On everything from life, nature, death, conflict, and even training.  Most will be in poetical form, however some posts simply be nature will be forced to be prose.  And if I ramble you have been for warned, but I am still sorry.  The fingers do not keep pace with the synapses.