My sorrow feels cold as winter’s brace on silver. This sheathless blade I hold… My hand begins to quiver.
Author: Nocturnal Pulse
I enjoy the thought of death, though I believe it's too good for me. I picture myself die in my mind in cenacle manners. My guardian angel has been charred and demonized due to a series of events. I love poetry, and photography will be my future career.
more reflections
Although a man can remarry, the loss of his past love left a weeping wound within his heart
reflections of nature (poetry)
The wind Waltzes gentally through the leaves kissing each one as it passes by and then continues it’s endless lonely journy
The Man in Black
The man in black haunts me. He is everywhere I go. I am terrified of the things he does. The man in black is a grotesque man that hides behind shadow. He sees what I see, but in different ways than myself. The man in black thinks as I do, only his are twisted, more… Continue reading The Man in Black
The Flames
Ashes fall like tear drops From the weeping fire Coating the ground in a Field of gray snow of sorrow In rain, those ash of memory are turned to mud And are washed away…