We are not dead on arrival to your page,
We live and breathe like the very words,
Shifting like colours swirling with form,
These delights live, and we are them, living…
Don’t you want to know the mirror of death,
And stand before the tyranny of entropy?
Or be a corpse bride betrothed to an almighty lie,
Living art, in a dead world.. what can be sadder?

Despair, mirror of life unrealized for fear of death,
These untrodden steps upon unmade roads,
Hope left rotting in dreams turn to nightmares.
Become the heroin, eschew the righteous fable,
And cease to be faceless in the book of destiny,
But rather destined to become worthy of accord,
Not by my hand or any other but your own,
And there in the shadow of dread, of becoming…

Is the glory.. waiting…