A shallow pristine river,
Drags itself into the west,
With a slow, lethargic rolling,
As it creeps from crest to crest.
Emptying its glistening waters,
Into a wide passive lake,
While the waters waver calmly,
On the soft shore where they break.
The silver waning moon,
Casts an effervescent glow,
As the soothing, gentle zephyr,
Stirs the trees leaves with each blow.
The landscape bathed in shadows,
As the dark grows deeper still.
Black clouds gliding through the night sky,
As their bounty starts to spill.
Rain drops pierce the rivers surface,
While the lightening flashes bright,
Showering everything for miles,
In its brief and sudden light.
The thunder sounds so mighty,
That the fragile earth does quake,
As the clouds tears land on flowers,
And their silky petals shake.
A land with no disturbance,
Not corrupt by pain or violence.
A space uninterrupted,
Where bliss is enclosed in silence.
She draped herself
In black like pitch
The open wound
Was without stitch
She would cry
Herself to sleep
Until she fell
Into the deep
She woke to this
And wished her end
A faery flew
It did descend
Caressed her soul
And it led
One million faeries
Armed with thread
To close her wounds
So they did stitch
They lifted the drapery
Dark like pitch
Oh viscious crimson liquor,
How I have missed you so!
My pleasure to gash my milky wrists,
And watch your rapid flow.
"Intoxicating fluid,"
I thought as my heart raced,
"How I have craved your dismal hue,
And bitter, salty taste."
This vital crimson poison,
Its stain shrouding my lips,
As from my pale, pointed chin,
The wicked liquid drips.
This dark stream is now ceasing.
The urge will come again,
To ease this hunger deep within.
No pleasure without pain.
