O Soul of Mine

The sky was dark, the night was still,
even the crickets seem'd too tired to chirp,
over one half world, nature seemed dead,
as her inhabitants were lost in nightmarish slumber.

A stifling wind, carrying with it carrion air,
that smelled of rot and filth flowed silently passed the windows,
no light, no shadow nor even silhouette was seen,
the leaves neither spoke nor motioned.

gingerly he steeped out the door,
face frowning as foul air mixed with his blood,
his veins fell silent, the blood therein stagnant,
it was the air, i swear, the air.

this nasty wind that stilled the spine,
grew filthier as more souls it possessed,
connecting bodies in an unending chain,
it spread through darkness, it crept into veins.

only from light, this menace did fly,
as if the sun could bleach it,
and take thence the pain and rot,
banish it back to its depths.

yet every night the wind did seep,
silent in the silence,
driven back by sunlight,
that gave back to mortal men, the life.

i woke up from my death one night,
to find resistance against the air,
and from thence i followed it to its source,
to seek it, in its lair.

into the mouths of many men it led me,
down beneath the heart,
and there, in each one of them i spied,
black sickness oozing out.

it must come from the heart,
for it was directly beneath,
this slime was the blood of the soul,
decaying, it was discharged.

oh man, what have you done,
to throw out your very soul,
can you no longer live with yourself?
to look upon what you have done?

so it has become, and so it must end,
to all, an untimely death shall come,
the skies are bleak,
the soul has turn'd black,
farewell, to those whom i once knew,
for we are changing even as we sleep,
when i wake up again, i might not know you.

The Shadow Walker

I try to think of funny words, to make this song seem bright,
i try to think of rhyming things, to make this poem light,
in the grasp of a block in my pen, my ink refuses to flow,
in verse i convey to you my friend, just how much a part of me you have grown,
you will have to make do with poorly formed phrases,
for with the truth, i fear i am not a very poetic person.

She walks alone on a moonlit beach,
searching for something she alone can see,
her feet seem to glide on the delicate sands,
making an impression only where she wants to,
a shadow walker, the only one ive seen,
picking apples from a grove of trees,
picking and choosing, only the sweet ones she keeps,
the sour and bitter to the ground lay rotting.

This shadow walker shall confound us yet, for look she weeps a lonely tear,
as many apples as she clings to herself,
what she wants is something more dear,
another soul to understand her, i wonder,
or is it another soul to scorn,
you will always be an enigma shadow walker,
for so you were born.

As my musings of her grow longer,
days and nights seem to merge as one,
is this odd, i wonder to myself, to have ones thoughts occupied by only one,
and yet again i console myself,
if anyone deserves it, she is one.
again i try and again i try, to understand what she is,
at first it started out as a curious experiment, to see what kind of person this is,
one with all the bad habits it seems, the very person who is different.

one day we met online again, the shadow walker and i,
we traded the usual funny stuff, to show each other the skills of tongue,
it was not clear how it started, but from then on something new arose,
i no longer tried to understand her out of curiosity,
i grew a need to empathize.

Aha, shadow walker, i have unveiled you i cried,
now we shall see what lies inside,
cruel and haughty i looked through to veil,
to find an ugly bearded grinning face.
A man inside, i mused awhile, my understanding clouded with stupidity,
looking again i knew what it was,
my friend, what i saw, was a mirror inside.

THIS IS DEDICATED TO THE SHADOW WALKER, AN ENIGMA TO THOSE WHO CANNOT SEE.