Through the winding forest where the bodies of
Disillusioned peasants lay in the catacombs,
Gothic oak wood may once again take its real form
And grasp for Your soul,
As the night falls,
Green turns to the color which brings forth the eternal rest,
Reach forth and separate the mystical branch
As the moon is surpassed by a blanket of unholy cloud
And echoed shrieks,
Ambiance of the dark evolves from beyond the divine nightshade,
Faraway from the forest,
The souls of the dead travel beneath the earths soil to arrive
At the tree of life and death,
Now a disoriented monk banished from the order finds solace
Within the cold surroundings of the untouched ground,
The secrets are revealed to him,
It is who commands the living,
The dead - The dead

Translucent plains envisioned beyond the horizon,
I hear the flapping of wings,
The bestowing tranquility of iridescent spectrum,
The birds circle around my presence,
Hinting at pale sightings of Kadmos,
All alone for dust ridden aeons,
Alienation Your inner method of nirvana,
There is no night, no day -
Kadmos Your preserved brotherhood,
The ivory Your only solace,
In flight we persevere into the lights of the ivory plains,
Structures from silence,
Petals in the stream,
Murk above the dark moor,
The east winds brush the dust from Your prophetic throne,
In lands of I never saw,
Where the equinox was permanent,
The elephants turn the icon of Your only existence,
For their is nothing else,
In flight we persevere into the mists of ivory plains,
For gather in the name of Moros and remember our lands

Oh, unveil, unclothe, excoriate,
Decorticate, peel, divest, shred,
Strip and scalp Your nails,
Your hands haemmorage continiously,
Numbness will then follow,
Until the pain is overwhelming,
The meek suffering of thee,
As they watch Your flesh revel
And achieve their morbid greed

No one feels the pain,
The pain deep inside that I feel,
No one sheds the tears,
The tears that lay down within me,
No one understands my silence,
The silence which embraces my aura,
No one knows my desolation,
The desolation which keeps me so distant,
No one senses the call of the ocean,
The ocean which called my name today,
No one was there with me,
The child which felt denial and hopelessness,
No one saw the lament of salvation,
The salvation which I dearly need,
No one but I,
Saw the night side of Eden,
The nightside

You, wander through the fields,
Your, sorrow as I advocate the depression,
Stumble into the hardened earth
And become engulfed by the seeds of plague,
The sky submits to the color purple,
Descending from above,
The holy ghost, does their savior seem holy?
A black specter is sent downwards instead,
Lowered downwards into damned soil,
Peasants mourn their own plagued death,
The shepherd of the unwanted valley,
Turning black and purple,
His spirit bows down,
Dark waters streaming down a precipice,
Among the sheep mists arises slowly,
The land is burned by the beggars,
Ornans-a place of fear and disease,
Burial-no requiem shall take place,
Eclipse of the sky as impurity casts,
No requiem, no return,
Peasants mourn their own plagued death

Standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary,
The cold winds from the south bring ghastly fragments of
The forgotten land, where, once the spirits stood along
The desolate shore to disappear into the silenced murk,
"Some by seven gated Thebes in the land of Kadmos There,
For these, the end of death was misted about them",
As my eyes slowly descend, The dust transcends into my frail structure,
The wind, the cold wind breaks my complete silence,
The portal for which I stand upon collapses,
No fear I shall feel, transcendence into the peripheral,
"And there they have their dwelling place and hearts free of sorrow,
In the islands of the blessed, by the deep swirling stream of the ocean",
The hypnotized sound of Boetian harps, created by the force of spirits,
The faraway lands no longer seem so distant,
Nirvanaesque serenity as the hills become unclouded,
The spirits embrace my soul,
As I envision the neutral spectrum before me,
The harp echoes and echoes and... my wings take me to the bewilderment.

All is calm, all is quiescent-the colour magenta,
The afternoon breeze finds its way to my soul,
AsI sit there and enhance the tranquillity,
The solace of sensory magic, Irreplaceable nirvana,
My body feels the effect of blood-letting,
The winds brought in from the south coast replace
Such drainful inhabitance,
My eyelids voluntarily close as the blue horizon line takes shape,
Stretching out far beyond the sun,
The sound of the blue, an eternity of complete acquiescence,
I cannot move, nor do I need to, for it is enough to lie on the cliff
And become entrapped in a world of escapism and peace,
Cerulean transience of all my imagined shores,
A bird of the ocean perches before me
And lets out a shriek which transcends me back,
Back to where I write,
And the calm breeze continues to enter my peripheral