Princess of Darkness

Stargazing, soul-searching and traveling,
Hammocks, polaroids and galaxies,
Experiences emanating magic and madness,
Losing track of time and reality,
Her new-found wings defying the laws of gravity,
While all along she had been surrendering to her mind,
The calls of her heart rings stranger chords,
New tattoos, gypsy guitars and intoxicated winds,
And her dreams pulling their own swords,
Battling the world with her poetic pen,
She fiercely coloured her own rewards,
Insanity raised peace but normality doubts,
Her demons imparted strength but angles chaos,
She was a dance of fire and ice,
Embracing the cold and craving the burns,
Oblivious to the fundamentals of life, she failed to see the joy in pain,
She had to rejoice the fallings of autumn to cherish the buzz of spring,
While she believed her days to be moonlit and nights starless,
She was rescued from the emptiness into wilderness,
In the superficiality of this passing world,
The angels of wisdom scarred her innocence,
The brutal sword of time portrayed her Satanic Highness,
Crush her bones but dare not crumble her spirit,
On the path to enlightenment, she was a princess of darkness,
Beyond the stars, even her shadows were skilfully guarded,
The dark within her soul burnt the colours of gold,
So if her magic, madness and wisdom be mistaken for darkness,
She hoped to never find light again.

Within you is the light of a thousand suns.

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Autumn and Spring

She paused. He resumed. She was speechless. He offered explanations. She expected the best. He prepared for the worst. She was ignorant. He reciprocated kindness. She was the aura of Autumn. He believed her to be the glory of Spring. In this delusional world of calamity and hypocrisy, she knew he’d bow down to her altar every single day with faith in his heart, desire in his soul, light in his eyes and a prayer on his lips. She knew him to be an absolute non-believer before he began worshipping her inevitably invincible flaws. While he was merely a sculpture made from clay and sent to Earth, it was her that breathed life into his soulless existence. She was his religion, his temple and the dawn of hope serving as an anchor for his bruised soul drenched in sin and sorrow.

She thought to herself if the Lord would detest her for letting His creation believe in the apparent mightiness of another flawed being. However, her demons roared louder than the voice of her conscience, “Didn’t the Lord Himself proclaim that those who worship others do so albeit in an improper way?”

He had unknowingly found the will of his heart while she had found yet another prey.

The taste of love, I tell you, is lethal.

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