Deified

No slight of hand beyond the slightest cold overmorrow

The sextant signs an altitude to grasp

No wandering doppelganger clasps the mirror edge

And the water is slowly dredged 

A famine of lines that plague our minds

And waterfalls face the river brow

Crawling through a shadow and aching in the light

No carefree traveler tries to spite my nights...alone in the grass

Breaking like the hourglass; laid time upon my finds

Looking inward with a confidence to see me in a scene 

Waking in the dream, the mountain calls for my fall from the excursions 

we took to align

The signals marginalized and spliced by the editor

No film to be shown whilst the windmill is blown

Sporadic and creeping toward the lamppost which slices through the night

A knife penetrating lonesome dark

The rain hems around the melting grounds 

Lawns betrayed by the day as the reflection walks away

The North weak then slaughtered as soil is gently watered

No herb or flower rises in the darkest hour

My immunity is caught and founders at the helm

Conscience migrates to a memory

And I am lost in the storm, the chronicle is born of settling ice 

Bathing in the spring and lacing up the string...setting sail on the snow bound jail

as my tears of hail probe upon the faces of the weary souls

No starless night shall reap the moon of her phase

No tall tale shall conclude with weaping

Black crosses lay upon the scorched earth

Carried by the messiahs unknown to each other

And none are real only scattered by lie

Isolated from the sky

No light shall touch the hands and no light soothes the muted bands

The flagellants come marching to their fates

We locked the gates and forsake our hate within this checkmate

Shall we walk along the rivers edge and contemplate

The vapors rise and wet my eyes

The masks haunt the plague

No remedy has caught the final words spoken

The cathedral window has been broken

for some time now

It is stalking along the stony ledge

It persecutes the thoughts I have wrought

And the friends had sought a refuge from the chasing black

And the end comes wallowing in the pools

And the parchment is burnt before it could send...the words

He has disappeared in the mist, the silver shadows 

Gone from the dawn

without a conclusion to spark our confusion

Has it all been illusions to soothe the unrest

The haunting jest...the disillusions

It is walking along the river's edge waiting...