They said they would open the gates of heaven—
but I knew they were the chains of hell.

They said that we were all birds
Flying,
but every last pheasant
Fell.

A dandelion
Dandelion
so yellow,
so bright
Inside holds white smoke
which, with a small breath of truth
wind of reveal,
Disperses in the Air.

Disappear.
They said that the heart was a cavernous maze
of longing, and loving, and
Desire.
But once the pretty peddles fade,
it’s just a cave,
just
a liar.

They said that good was good
White was White,
and there was
no Gray.

They took the middle,
cut it out,
Blurred the lines,
gave it away.


They gave mine to be mine,
yours to yours,
and all the same.
Then they took what was ours
Once the last parting
Bell rang.

A white winters day so
Alive, yet so
Dead.
Does it speak to the heart,
or the empty cave instead?

A whisper
in my head
make me feel bad is good.

My soul is dead.

If I am departed,
who will answer the questions forming?
Is my ghost devil or angel?
And for that,
am I alive?
And what is
Alive?

All of these questions
tainted with mourning.

All the Answers
Aldulterated by my flight—
all the Answers
Contaminated by our plight.

But all is well,
well is all,
for it is only human nature
that the masks must one day fall.

Life is a masquerade and human kind
The Maskers.
It's the blind leading the blind—
yet under the darkness
hides laughter.

Irony is here and
Incongruity there:
the darkest of tones
at the same time is
Fair.

We can hide our antagonists behind
a green silk
shade,
but the traitors always win;
we shall all be
Betrayed.

Longing to shed light on the wealth
of the past,
we find skeletons in Life’s closest,
Suffer a deleterious
Blast.

Searching for a treasure one finds only
Pain,
Discovers the treasure box,
opens it,
finds shame.

The truth has been masked by a mad mother goose
whispering Lies to our children,
Tainting our Youth.

It would take a newshound who
could not tell
a lie
to shed Light on Verity,
to make the Devil in
the Stove
Die.

That's what it boils down to,
heavens gates and hell’s
chains—
the end is the end,
the masks fall,
and so ends our
game.