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Challenge the elk to a fight. Fear his reaching horns. Face down the noble in white. Respect is newly born. Take his teachings throughout life. Find dignity in quotidian ways. The calm and quiet in strife, Will bring you peace for days. When sighting tests and trials, Hold his lessons true. The stag can run for miles, And his hooves might carry you through. Spot all your blunders and conquests And keep him always in mind. Whatever the stag may suggest Is not to be disinclined. The day you face the young hart, Your own truth should occur. Pass on the old elk’s impart And let the new youth infer.

Take a step into the swarming hive. Feel the throbbing stings alight on your soles. Step onward, continuing forward on the beaten path. The showing of the stings will support you as you thrive. Take a step back into the creeping shadows. Feel the looming darkness swallow you whole. Sink into the murk and relish the coolness on your skin. The quiet and calm will surround you upon entering their throes. Take a break from walking toward something. Head toward nothing when you step into a stroll. The blankness is an attendance so completely substantial. Trusting thoughtlessly is blinding and your ignorance is stunting. Take a step forward toward a blossoming future. So much better than your existence being forever dull. One foot in front of the other is how you keep moving on. You will never have means or capability to turn back to how you were.

Look into your eyes, Eyes of the sun. Future in your eyes, Time has passed. Gaze into your eyes, A full moon view. Hope in your eyes, Hold to present. Spy into your eyes, Orbs of the night. Pooling in your eyes, Thought’s song. Ground into your eyes, A glimpse of the soul. Portals in your eyes, Never fall in. Stare into your eyes, My past laid out. Prophecy in your eyes, Spare me. Peer into your eyes, Eyes of the stars. Respect in your eyes, Ominous war.

Darkness will pool in our deepest corners. See it creeping through. Shadows reign in all the wrong places. They hide where light cannot pursue. Demons meld with our angels. It creates imperfection. Merge and mix our many masks. Faces made for protection. Light remains just out of reach. Fingertips brush the strands. Something to see and barely touch. Never within your hands. Wings that should be white are black. The result: a jet-black ink. A soul, thy body now reflects. Yet to know what world will think. Sun will shine on ebony limbs. Never pierce the gloom. Eyes glow bright with words within. Sound will herald doom. End comes hunting on shaded wings. Umbra suffocates song. Ghastly and gauntly culmination is nigh. Voice begins to sing along.

You built up a palace, you built it up grand, with tools made of whimsy, you made it by hand. The turrets were cockles, you dug from your heart, you put down foundations, but tore them apart. With walls made of words, you raised us to the sky, with a lash for a tongue, and a thorn in your eye. Economic, your bailey, your battlements sparse, your phrases projectiles, your philosophy harsh. In-between turgid currents, your moat could be still, but more often than not, it held vermin and swill. And oh you the drunk King, ruled over the lot, with your scepter of judgement, and your robes made of rot. A title not earned, nor a monarchy made, your palatial catharsis, was a thing of the grave. A jester could twist, with less finesse and flair, how you cavorted with truth, like you hadn’t a care. But it was the soft moments, that broke me the most, on a chain to your wiles, I near gave up the ghost. And ‘love’, that fair thing, that you claimed that you had, your heart is a