Last Orison

The story behind his silence was haunting.
And he whispered a defamed Orison.
Pain eluded as that ember died.
On his final night homewards.

Embroil he brooded, was in vapors and flames.
He was free once again, having no one to blame.
His conscience was brittle but it survived.
His soul wasn’t sold, and so it thrived.
In awe and agony we bid farewell.

The wounds which were healed started to swell.
And as we sang that Orison one last time.
Kings were brought down and so their crowns.
Aeons passed and the Orison was lost.
Burning to ashes, paying eternal cost.


Bringing death to life

Season changed, leaves felt from the sky.
But he trod through day and night.
On path as cold as ice.
Little he knew what he was about to create,
A creature of his own demise.

Faith was shattered, hope’s afar.
He kept on walking with thousand scars.
He was a fallen God.
Disconsolate with THOUGHTS DISCORD.

The highest sanctum was his destination.
As it was the day of the truest creation.
Apostles deter and God’s forbid.
But he was determined and DID WHAT HE DID.

“COME TO LIFE”, out loud he called.
Surging in darkness DEATH SPRAWLED.

“Nothing will be forever anymore.” Was the asseveration.
Life now was just an undeniable attrition.
The Creator then vanished with memories in stardust.
Leaving behind his PROFOUND CREATION.


Apoplexic Scars

Crude thoughts dissolve my innocence
I am becoming the dark.
My soul is the anvil of my being and these apoplexic scars.

My driving force is controlling what I can’t in this unpredictable life.
I devoutly served the one beyond my perception.
Then why I’m still becoming the dark?
Our soul is the anvil of our being and our apoplexic scars.

Try to convince, try to evade.
But nothing works, nothing ever works.
We are slaves to our master our mind.
Whose real motives are hidden under a gilt.