Forced to wander,
along the roadside,
the poet sings,
that saddest tune.
Seeking redemption,
seeking fate,
asking for,
his very own end.
Unknown to him,
the barren road ahead,
faulted and curved,
flows into,
the very heart of death.
Stepping through,
gravel cut pain,
that eye in his head,
sees nothing at all.
Stumbling,
falling,
knowing only,
he must go on.

Faulting and hindered,
he lays down his head,
as the poison inside reached,
his heart.
Coughing, spluttering,
knowing he cannot go on.
The tears tell,
a story his words could not.
The world of lies,
the power of pain,
one drawn into,
the spider's web.
Candles burning on,
in his mind of hurt.
Burnt and suffering,
he cannot go on.

The flame glows bright,
and then dies.
Fortune smiled,
then she cried.
Possessed of a spirit,
feet hurtling forward,
the poet rises,
with his pen.
Craving for hurt,
all life to prove,
he must lift,
this shattered body,
to heaven's embrace.
Angels and demons,
cast a shadow upon,
his steps so far.
Facing his fate,
good or bad,
cannot escape,
so will fight,
to the bitterest last.

Flames burning,
in distant hells.
His eyes see,
pain for all.
Screams in the darkness,
a torturer's will.
Eyes wide,
pounded heart,
cold breath,
as the poet steps forward.
Feet braced,
fists clutch,
the pen to sword.
Lash across the face,
the torturer's will,
is not yet known.
Figure steeped in blood,
mixes of reds.
The poet's death,
is assured,
as blood pours,
from his mind.
But the torturer's pain,
like his own,
only human cries.
No demon kill,
no angelic thrill,
caught in hell's joke.
The two poets see,
the face of the other,
laughter of the skies revealed,
known in their dying words:
"I love you".

02/03/2007