The Sin Confessed, remembered, then forgave
Such as the winter whitened city streets
And I, compelled, stroll out– my soul to save
As walking in the cold some grace entreats
I grasp for reasons, visiting cafes
Pretending coffee somehow isn’t sin
As though the effort cleanses, not betrays
An answers lie without and not within
The coat, imagined burden– penance posed
And gloves– crusader’s armor fighting cold
Protection shed until the shelter’s closed
And back into the snowfall to behold
Communion caffeinated fuels the night
And sharpens senses passing through the white

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Sweet Cinnamon and Ginger Sting
The scald that clears the cloying kiss

Kiss unsticky now resumes
Softer now, sweeter now
Melt into the lake that is flesh

Mingle and merge
Explore extend Surrender conquer
Inhibitions, fears

Satisfy, sacrifice self
Use, be used
Capture, be captured,
Release, be released,
Serve and strengthen
Talk and trust.

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Waltz with a Ghost

The curtain swirls as I pass
And the feeling that lasts
Is a cool melancholy despair

And I trace back my steps
To the ones I just left
And I find myself kissing the air

Something empty inside
Whispers that I can’t hide
From the entity hovering there

But what scares me the most
As I’m drawn to the host
Are entrancing sad rhythms
I waltz with a ghost

The memories haunt
Me of things I did want
But didn’t do as I lay scared

Or the plans that I made
Though not very well laid
And finding I’m never prepared

And I watch the leaves blow
And the shadows that grow
As my soul lays so empty and bared

But what chills me the most
Is a cold spirit toast
Romantically morbid
I waltz with a ghost

Something dreadful I find
Lingers still in my mind
Of the entity hovering there

In the mirror’s design
Of glass pieces that shine
Through cracks leading slowly nowhere

In a desparate plight
Through reflections I fight
Where angels won’t go on a dare

But what kills me the most
I don’t say it to boast
I’ve given up living
To waltz with a ghost

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Passion the Crimson Angel

presented now in its excessive entirety.¬† An exercise, nothing more…

Passion the Crimson Angel

Passion’s Birth

Born near the time ere earth had begun–
The conflict of Angels as told by Milton
When pride sent the bright one to furnaces bleak
Before the clay Adam had yet learned to speak

Of hope and of faith and of conflict and zeal
A spirit arose surviving on feel
Inspiring beauty, both pleasure and pain
Passion awoke to ne’er fight in vain

Or at least, to his construct, believes that he wont
As some men believe this, the doubters they don’t
God saw this creation, and condemned him not
But left him to dwell where he composed and fought

Sometimes in heaven, whilst rhyming an ode
But restlessness drags him away, as his mode
The lord won’t protect him, he’s a child now all grown
But watches intently those Passion has known

Passion makes for a strange guardian angel
He’ll steer you not toward the path that is safe
But rather encourages walks through great danger
Avoiding the menaces solely on faith

Protection, you’ll find is never his strong suit
With passion you’ll find you’re more threatened then not
And though the ride’s thrilling, the peril’s more acute
Delving deeper toward hell than you e’er would have thought

His confidence stirring, his eyes rather mad,
For this? was all the great planning you had?
But the journey is stirring and blood fills your tongue
While chasing for love you’re eternally young

And passion quite heedless, presses on his great quest
Never pausing permitting a second thought’s rest
You wonder what drives him, and by proxy you
To zealously chase what seems to be true

As with all good intentions, or aims thought to be noble
Some riding with passion will be lead into trouble
Others will meet with epiphanies bright,
The exact sort of outcome that fills passion’s sight

So, from just after creation, til this very day
Someone is caught by bold Passion’s sway
And at no less danger then those folowing him
Passion is subject to fall to fate’s whim

Some good whims, some bad, some deadly some bright
And fate may not kill him, but then again might,
For every last hero who follows love blindly
Fate glances at passion, and not always kindly

Sweet myst’ry of life, do we find love’s rhapsodies
And to gain must we be what Passion embodies?
Do we risk for brief rapture eternal despair,
Or live with regrets in an un-threatened lair?

The Ballad of Passion the Crimson Angel

As the skies open up and the ground starts to swell
He straddles the line between heaven and hell
Blood red wings and garment pulse, armed with flaming sword
Illuminating the air he cuts, with sharpness of his word

His voice sings sweetly while racked with pain
Ever believing he fights not in vain
A halo of roses, but thorns pierce his hand
Sweet cinnamon bleeding darkens the sand

Where he slashes ‘gainst cynics and logic and time
And should you fight with him he’s forever thine
And from either side of the lash he will bleed,
Not looking to injure but fulfilling need.

And Passion is blood and roses and honey
Blazing through darkness while heaven stays sunny
And Passion is longing and rapture and crying
Potential and suffering, but never quite dying

On the edge of damnation he’ll dance with desire
Immune to the fear of eternal hell fire
He loses himself in his ne’er ending quest
Acting on feeling at no one’s behest

A focus, not mindless, but lacking in caution
He fears not the void, but well could be tossed in
In service to love, rare devotion and faith
Committed to slaying the cynical wraith

He welcomes the cuts and the stings and the burns
That fighting for glory most certainly earns
A face that he knew, now distant, but clear
Prods him fight onward as though she were near

He clutches a rose, thorns buried in skin
One with the beauty that pierces within
Of blood and of hunger embracing the burn
As if on his hunch the galaxies turn

Something alluring god may have forbidden
Fuel hunger for mysteries and truths that lay hidden
And Passion, believing without any proof
From reason and temperance stays wholly aloof

For blood and for union and unlikely lovers
He gambles his talent forsaking all others
Burning with heat of a fast dying star
He battles the normal while no others are

To him acquiescence is never a friend
Resignation’s a foe that he’ll fight to the end
All for the true love he feels is a prize
And for what he’s not seen, risks knives through the eyes

For a cut cross the eyes is mere laceration
And blindness, though daunting, sways not his vocation
He’ll suffer such wounds and the threat of negation
Dueling with death, and self-immolation

Passion’s Return

The lance through the heart and the blow to the head
Left Passion the angel alone, and for dead
The second of doubt and lapse of belief
Burned holes in his body in a moment so brief

And Passion, sword missing and crimson wings torn
drained spirit, sliced open and object of scorn
Eyes flicker, blood flowing, his sight a red cage
But bruised, not defeated, his pain turns to rage

He claws at the ground formed by wishes decayed
Struggling to rise as his body is flayed
By ghosts of dead dreams and hope that was lost
But Passion will slay them regardless of cost.

He’ll kill to defend what’s close to his heart
As cutting through demons was finest of art
And Passion lives fighting, preserving his cause
Chasing the doubtful and spiting their laws

Passion’s Gift

Into the void crazed Passion went
Upon his brow, a mission bled
Not for a concept was he sent
But for one woman in its stead

To this would Passion vow his creed
Not seeking but a passing need
But rather promise, beauty fair
The kind referred by poesy’s air

And the promise wasn’t for a lifetime
Maybe not for even years
But a single meeting chance sublime
Would outweigh centuries of tears

Perhaps for decades, perhaps for days
Not knowing how the drama plays
But even days are filled with meaning
If touched by hand of true love gleaning

A single quest not metaphor
No ideal, just a lady to adore
And in this cause no angel he
He leaves his wings for hers to be

He gives up immortality,
His power and his fame
Risking lifes’s banality
Perchance to speak her name

And the angel who had merely risked
His life and place in endless joy
Discards it freely and is whisked
To earth as but a boy

Albeit in man’s body, yes
But naive and young in spirit
For Passion could be nothing less
Than mortal and to fool to fear it

And so wings lacking, no flaming sword
With but a memory of his lord
He makes the journey for her heart
With only power in his art

For though lacking in seraph devices
He retains his mem’ry one surmises
And though his throat’s no more divine
The words poured forth still seem to shine

To all but object of his ardor.
Immune, she is and makes it harder.
Most are prone to love his tongue,
Save she that makes him ever young

For though he’ll age and though he’ll die
She stay’s the apple of his eye
Should he die tomorrow or reach old age
Her picture is his missing page

In death without her, life diminished
In gaining her the task is finished
No earthly toil compares with this-
All pain but facets of his bliss

But turmoils many slow the meeting
Passion seeks with wild heart beating
The game is not of golden bands
But catching eyes and holding hands

And in the catching, gazing, drinking
In her stare and slowly sinking
Warmly in a pool of pleasure
To take her grasp and then to measure

Every inch of precious finger
Each one a place to pause and linger
And so in looking up at her
He hopes her feeling will concur

But alas, she is not there
No hand to hold or loving stare
The scene exists but in his dreaming
And Passion waits, thinking, scheming

Mortal now with nothing gained
Desolate and doubly pained
His faith remains but Passion wonders
If zealous acts are merely blunders

Passion, coda

In retrospect a very reckless angel
Living through his fantasies and dreams
Understood to work at every angle
Vying to have different than what seems

Simply put he can’t accept the outcome
Ironically defined by his own need
Nothing more than “sentio ergo sum”
Dealt the hand with which to do his deed

Every action has a repercussion
Reversely, repercussions magnify
Each incident, a matter for discussion
Love alone his void will satisfy

Life is but summations of our actions
And how we deal with our strongest  attractions

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