Cemeteries...

I stood at the edge of my reason, staring deep into the abyss of oblivion. It looks beautiful, the sparkle of a million stars reflected in the black mirror.
I stood at the edge of my cemetery, blanketed in crimson leaves. I could hear the moans of a thousand dead rising on the wind that shook the trees and shook my soul.
I stood at the edge of my life, watching it fly past on black gossamer wings, tipped in the blood of my broken soul. I could not breathe, because of the lack of air and could not see because of the lack of light. Darkness wrapped its arms about me and I was swept up in its arms.
I stood at the edge of forever, praying that I wouldn't fall into the depths of oblivion. A girl, much like myself, stares back at me, her eyes blacker than black. I long to touch her, because she seems so much more lovely on the other side of a black mirror. I touch her face and I die a little, trying to reach her side of the glass.
And now, I stand with her on her side and I long to return to the sun and those sparkling stars that no longer shine. Darkness is a friend, but he is never kind to those who resist. And I still hear the moan of a thousand dead riding the screams of the lonesome wind, as she whips through the naked trees of autumn.

A Voice in the Dark (2/03/06)

I cried for a long time,
waiting for a sign, relief
from the pain couldn't be
found in cutting or wine.
A voice in the dark, the
one I longed to hear,
your voice carrying me
here.
Sleep is a weary traveler's
friend, death the broken-
hearted's. For my weary
soul bring a voice in the dark.
A voice in the dark, a stir
of the echoes, silence in
place of death. Grasp and
hold my memories still.
Tranquil lie the vows of
marriage, broken lie the
bands of love, bloody lie the
hearts of the weary soul,
longing desperately for love.