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Sadomasochistic dreams
Cryptic word and subtle hints upon the lips of angels,
Crimson stains and blood tipped wings upon the skin of angels,
What a creature born of mirth punishments guide to sanctum solely.
Refuse born of tear razor lines sadist hearts too holy,
Written books of law besought with in the crimson vales.
Held fast in velvet tethers their bondage thus prevails.
Razor wire walls humanity of it's keep caste forth,
wrapped in pallid chains of worth never wings of soreth.
Tie me down your bitter tales like honey on the run,
sharpened blades and candles drip your sanity undone.
Forth come in ebon silk lashed to oaken stay,
Bite the flesh with leather strands not gone affray.
Years will pass and still shall return you I,
For what pleasure held in bondage masochist sigh.
Write my fate in books shall I rewrite the lines
page by page the fates have turned once more a blind eye.
In between the threads I walk my own destiny my name signs.
Sweet sadist thy masochist in fold called forth on ebon wing,
A soft song upon my lips sweet muse I shall I sing?
Of angels with their cryptic words and blood dipped wings.
Of angels whose crimson stains their cage bird song heart sings.
what creature such as this an existance spent in worships call
On bended knee before their king mournfully uphold the law.
Let them lash me with their tethers and cut me with their keep
For every moment of ecstasy from their insanity I shall reap.
Honors keep
Blood tipped tongues and razor words,
Double edged meanings the colour of birds.
Razor wire roses and thorn pricked vales,
Wrapped in chains the master hales.
Tethered ropes and chain lashed bare,
Crimson trickles for one to share.
Places forgotten by many who came,
Written in the death's book the same.
Tongues once spoken now ancient made,
Born of riddles, cryptic tombs now fade.
Speak now soft whispers of places old,
Of self lit fountains, palaces of gold.
Of these lost places do I speak,
Of days of old and tongues some seek.
Of times where bondage was a gift,
and tether bindings were the souls lift.
Where pain was a pleasure not rare,
found among those belongings care.
Times of war where battles were fought,
and homes and lives were once blood bought.
Places where honor was more then a word,
and decorum wasnt an ancient term so bold.
Where your honor was born in the mark it left,
Upon the flesh a household beset.
Now the marks on many have faded to scars,
and the honor their held is caged with in bars.
where leather whips and silk sashen chains
were the mark of belonging and the memory remains.
Written in shadows this keep of tales
Hidden with in the milky stellar trails.
Are places of old and tongues to speak
If one knows but where to seek.
Mirror within the mirror
Mayhaps I suffered the madness years ago and this is remains,
a ghosted mirrored echo of what I am or is it what regains
Mayhaps I'll never know, but is it really important to ask?
Are these the answers or the questions of the very task?
If I am with in the cage or out does it really matter?
Are these thoughts fixed or if they are the scatter?
Am I ever really caged or ever really free
or are these mearly perceptions of reality?
Am I ever really sane or am I really ever mad,
are these things all perceptions of the fad?
Am I ever really hungery or am I ever really full,
Or are these perceptions of the null?
Am I ever here or am I really gone,
mearly perceptions of the fawn?
Am I ever alive or am I ever dead,
are these just perceptions with in my head?
Is there really pleasure or is there really pain,
are these the perceptions of the masochistically insane?
Is there really sadness or is there really joy,
or am I just my own perceptions toy?
Is there really anguish or is there really hope,
or am I just the victim of my own view of scope?
If there really hatred or is there really love,
or am I just the delusion of my perceptions glove?
Is there really dark or is there really light,
or am I just the figment of my own perceptions plight?
Is there reality or is this just a dream?
Or am the just the echo of perceptions silent scream?
Is there really justice or Is their really mearly mirth?
Or am I just a piece of my own perceptions birth?
Is there really instinct or is there really thought?
Or am I just the dream of perceptions battles fought?
am I really here or am I really gone?
Am I just the basis of a perception gone wrong?
In Esect Vite
silent words never spoken
seething feelings never said
razors edge of illumination
From the world of the dead
silent whispers things foreseen
written in crimson on the scheme
Had the years behind me
A life lived in passage
return behind the enemy lines
to razor words and cages fine
build the wall let it die
tides are rising on the inside.
forbid to hunt, forbid to slay
forbid to leave, forbid to stay.
careful now the eye grow dark
crimson tethers bound the mark.
Walk the living, know the dead
silent whispers in my head
The night had died the sun is slayen
Never gone I never came.
May The Shadow Hold thee Safe, The Moon Light thy Path And The Wind Aid Thy Steps. May You Still Feel Small When You Stand Beside The Eternal Ebon Vale Of Twilight's Keep
 Delemonico · Wed Nov 12, 2008 @ 10:30am · 0 Comments |
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