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Everything You Hold Sacred...


Collection of thoughts and free verse poetry.

Twin Pyres

With a heavy heart, the third eye weeps from the sight

of dual pyres.

The vision isn't granted the reverence it so justly


While chasing fireflies, divine's luminescence flickers

then dies... But I guess I'll be blamed for the outage.

...Or whatever. Life's dumb.

Leap Before You Look

Murmurs on the wind nudge me towards destiny.

Inert with doubt, or perhaps fear, I remain suspended,

resigned to fate.

The murmurs, they grow in repetition and sound.

The nudges, more forceful, sending me crashing

towards the ground.

I witness death, with its scraggly wisps of hair,

milky eyes, and skin, taut and gray with decay.

Death has claimed dominion of this plane, and so it's

time to move on.

Surrender. Plunge.


I've spent far too much time peering into the mirror,

waiting for my reflection to recognize me.

I'm in stasis, much like the twelfth iteration of the 

major arcana, blood rushes to my head.

Does my reflection avert its eyes because I frighten

them? Not in the sense one fears bodily harm, but the

way one fears realized potential.

My reflection continues to ignore me to avoid its

deepest fear: Intimacy

Ironically enough, said action only perpetuates

my own crippling fear: Isolation.

Cloaking Shadows

New light casts looming shadows from my past...

Engulfed, the cloak of familiarity offers a false sense of comfort.

I'm not meant to dwell in the shadows but to bask in the light. One foot in front

of the other until my skin is kissed by the sun.

Four Pillars






I do work with the Magnus's hand,

I perceive the world through the Seer's eye.

Physical self turns his back,

Higher self pleads for me to stay

Spirit is bountiful but the flesh is in need.

Letting Go

Death Grip

Released; circulation flows.

Tight fists turned to cupped palms

Blessings fall.

Anticipation/Expectation soften

to receptivity

No Use Crying

Five Chalices:

Two to the north, upright,

filled to the brim with ambrosia

To the south, three toppled;

sweet milk soaks into soil...

Do you anoint your lips with tears 

dedicated to yesterday, or with

Divinity's distilled brew?



Thirty revolutions around the Sun.

Not where I want to be, probably won't be there until I

fulfill certain obligations.

Doesn't feel fair, though.

Mortality only agitated my fears, but it's best not to act

out of fear... So what do we base our actions on?


If you're only meant to act when certain, then the only

certainty you're granted is stagnation...