A Dare

A very personnel fear

An urge to push away

I feel it say

You’re going to get hurt

You’re going to get hurt

Set a distance

Play it safe

And you won’t feel a thing

The Charade

Painted faces

All lines and shades

Where is the truth?

Behind this masquerade

A thought, a feeling

Fingers and strings

The truth is bound

To leave a sting

The Disciple

Within the Sin Bowl

Our misgivings burn

And the karmic dust

Will settle in turn

And from these ashes

A promise is made

That never again

Shall we be swayed

From the path we know

As just and right

For we are the flame

In the cold silent night

King

A master of perception

Writing lines between the lines

Observing, absorbing, filtering

Before drawing conclusions

Like blood from the vein

Precisely, timed, focused

The essence of the all

Taken

One step at a time

Bishop To Queen

Sisters of sorts

An evolution

Focused on the scars

Of a warrior’s mind

Touching what has healed

Embracing what has not

Over time

Pawn

A melancholic gaze

Caught in a cold embrace

And a face, so close

But just not close enough

There is beauty in this sadness

As this is how you feel

And it is real

When the warmth is not

The Longest Night

Possible answers

To unanswered questions

Pondered deep in to the night

As all the ghosts

From moments past

Taint the views

Of second sight

What is to come?

Already written?

The spirits whisper

Have no fear

For in the end

A life worth living

Cannot be shed

By a single tear

The Trick

Let loose

Like an arrow to the Sun

With an honest heart

And eyes wide open

Observing the tricks

Of systems and Man

He lived and learned and thrived

Until he lost his footing

Through the deceit of a girl

Invocation

The clock struck midnight as the two candles were lit. One for the future and the other for days gone by. A silent lady was present with a scroll and brush in one hand and a long flaming match in the other. The orange flames from the candles and match illuminated three small porcelain dishes upon which were neatly piled three pigments: black, red and white. A forth dish sat apart upon which the silent one placed the burning match so that it could burn to its end.

The scroll and brush were then placed on the floor in such a manner that they formed the Roman numeral V with the three dishes at its summit.

The lady then rose and turned on the spot, making her long white dress sway and the candles flicker. Stepping forward she faded in to darkness as a second lady came forth from it and knelt before the scroll and brush.

In her hands were two pieces of wood carved into the shape of serpents. The one in her left hand was painted black with purple eyes and the one in her right hand was painted white with crimson eyes. She unrolled the scroll and placed a serpent on either side so that the scroll remained open and flat on the floor. She rose, turned and a third lady shadowed past her holding a crystal bowl of water between her hands.

She placed the bowl opposite the dish upon which lay the now spent match and thus completed the symmetry of the objects before her. With the exception of the brush which was laying next to the black serpent. She picked it up with her left hand, dipped it in the bowl of water and with sharp and fast strokes wrote upon the scroll. Then, closing her eyes. She reached out to the pigments, clenched a handful of the first one she felt then threw it on the scroll. With her eyes remaining closed she lay down the brush, gently felt for the serpents and with the tips of her fingers pushed them apart. The scroll sprung back in to its cylindrical shape and she softly sighed knowing that she must remain still until both candles had reached their end.

The Burn

Fire or water

One in the same

From the scars on the mountain

To the warmth of the flame