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

feels

please
make not
me ask-
the
silence
to
resonate
dissonant
sound,
when eves
shut eyes
weaving tapestried
lies
somewhere,
deep,
they sway
through dawns
swept dusks
others softly
setting say
this
emptiness,
chaotic as
it may;
could have,
should have,
merely must
may

what crisis
identity knows not,
how closing that
cosmos and stitching
stardust have
anything done with
their everything
gone

and afar
they drift
when apart,
to memory,
succumb;
their keep,
in cherish
of thought
they pray

oh fire,
please kiss them
this evil to rest,
in folly and fate
a bittersweet crest;
their, flame
fettish waltz
any weighs worth
through poorly knit
cobblestone
country and girth
o'er brooks of ms. mary
and grace do them drift
the solace of lily
in amber embrace
a solemn serene
fades entropy
clear to focus
fell

in heavens envy
of hells apathy
rest as ye must dear,
rise as ye may,
forget not the feel
either way


~Deus fortuno

that

something
vicarious
whispers
them;
stay,
gravity
shall return
when safety
forsakes fear
and shakes
delirium
between fragmented
thought
and naive reason;

this them
they see
shall change,
resistant
to fiction,
lived once,
lost twice,
beneath
realities
faithful to hope
while hoping for faith,
that this them shall remain
when all else
shall
change.

what is love?
how dare you
understand its
immortalized
understanding
of yours;
the whys
inside;
hugged
away from
pain;
mortality;
themselves-
these never meant to-
couldn't help moments,
alone
in the dark,
disappeared,
in cold thought,
completely missing
the point,
of purgatory;
the is of this
what-
coping
with knowing not
what to ask
or how to accept
the answer
in question.

They know,
no better
than experience,
but believe
in experiences
which have yet
to be;
born of
believing
wholeheartedly,
that these could
should or would
maybes
hold purpose
in this present
disbelief,
certainly they know
that then was when
is gone
the comfort
of sheets snug
and moons warm
of ignorant
understanding,
and innocence
who never felt
the dissonant
relationships
of soul
and spirit;
better them that
never learn,
than never live,
or live
without experiencing
the love,
of something
vicarious.

~Deus fortuno

be

she
doesn't get it,
the whole of
this nothing;
her purpose
within each word,
the sounds she heard
haunting
each breathless slur
of her

she questions,
how absurd,
that sense
should spawn of
nothing but his
absent presence;
dwelling,
where answers wait
beyond now yet
before then,
when his
present absence
first became nothing
but his memory
of her

she knows,
the sights
he sees
in search
of her
how rivers
flow
when he lives
these days
and survives
those nights
drown them;
save them all,
in ships
and sands
above this place
of complacent
existence.

she feels,
emotion-
distress, yet
knows she is
no damsel.
He is
no prince.
This is when
pain was named;
when neither hers
nor his served
any deference;
these faithful games
which loved for years
to play
would lust no more for seconds

She believes,
that belief in her is
Here,
beneath covers
tucked in,
ready,
his courage
waiting
to carry them where
found was safe
and lost no longer cared to lose her.
where madness meets method-
who said
they could not be-
should they
depend upon
perception or make
their own bed
for those weary few
who defy gravity
and live
themselves to
death.
How dare fate
be so cruel yet,
too kind,
to thieve what she
graciously sacrifices,
in faith blind;
that she shall breath;
hope,
in this apnea,
resting only
in daydreams
of her.

she holds,
that moment
close to her memory,
when his absence
meant that world
forgot to
feel; to be,
before he forgets
to live,
she visits
to give
a kiss,
to return this world,
to his lips;
that he may hope
to hold
some semblance
of her.

~Deus fortuno

enough.

She seeks something;

the what inside,

but where to find

time, to seek

the will

she hears things;

sounds,

rings,

sweet nothings,

stripping her sanity

oh, so slowly,

enough

she feels;

how she feels,

when she feels like it;

with love

this above ,

below depths unknown,

by those

nearly-close

enough,

to know

she is emotion;

a thought,

the word,

holding

its breath enough,

being as she does,

doing as she believes

she is time;

still,

moving,

always

and never

enough,

the same

she

she was before,

nor shall be,

the foreshadowed

memory

of eves that ever were

and never shall be

in time;

she shall feel

as she has never,

and ever

believed;

the something

she seeks,

the what

to find;

inside

of time,

she is,

and shall ever be

~Deus fortuno