so it is

Pain
when does this madness
trickle away
life
like dews
the dawn cried to
dusk

Billows
the grains
and wanes
the owls
eye closed
one
last-
willow away
from comfort

Danger;
was safe
once,
promise.

Icarus
was only
trying
to please
that little
pleasure
poseidon thought
success
wished
or ought
to be

Underestimated,
undermined
uninvited
emotion

How
mortal
death
is

Vicious
cycles
render helpless
rinse, repeat;
finally,
a repose
worth falling for;
tar and feather
the sheepish wolf
they'll never know
the difference

Heaven
was
everything
Hell
threw away

Was this
it;
what waiting
waited so
desperately
for;
what does
worth
have something
anything
to do with this,
now,
let it be

~Deus fortuno

purgare

Maybe
eternity is
best lived asleep,
or memories
their life
outlived to
perish

Never
was then
about the angels
of heavens lust
or demons
through zeal
untame
but matters
of them
between death
and death
the same

Leave
water away
from blood-stained
grip
in moon
shown seal
and stain;
loss is safe
in secret
though
deep truths
reflect
Dear Hollow Night,
Take not
my friend,
yet in return,
my soul
thy snare,
do wed;

just breath..
it is what it is

My tries of Ash
no fire forgave
maybe, if
fate shall twist
mercy
Breath,
almost natural
almost dangerous

Everything
and nothing
its only,
what it is
I can take it
whats the worst
that can
happen
The need
to find
another
need grows
colder
in desires wake
to find
the pleasure
within pain
and want
the needs
desire

What
could words say
to fool
a fool;
Go,
disappeared,
why not
Be responsible
Do as ye must.
No promises,
none after.

hope
and sweet
love
whisper
but thy
swan song
only once;
madness waits
for none
yet welcomes all
The mourning
spills hope
eclipsed
into deepest dark;
Unwell, unwell
indifference brings
before the tollsome
bell
fate, bittersweet, judge
no rest
the wicked befell.

~Deus fortuno

godspeed

violence,
in sky
awake
by heartbeat
of sod
trembling to
sleep;
what solace
awaits their
nightmares
too patient
to listen,
too loving
to care
where or why
it happened

breaks,
the ground
feels
cold
despite
constant pressure
to live
by them above
its infinite
grave

them,
who know
pain
knew its roots
rain deep
ever adoring
its sharp-
subtle alarm
forsaking
their solace
of sleep

who,
or what
existentially
equal
with why
these pitiful
trees
host funerals
for leaves
that die
with seasons
too young
to notice
the shrill
impatient,
deceitful
days
sear nights
requited
rest

breath,
peace
asthma only
holds
to breathless
hopes of life

its only pain
~Deus fortuno