in the beating of my heart lays a

thousand dreams of what is was

and could be forever distant in

the wondering of a mind caught in

an illusion defined as time



that other half of me that half that

doth see the shadows of the darkness

in places that cannot be only known

in whispers by those no longer able

to see the wonders of this world



love cannot be taken from the heart

but can be surrounded by the desires

of the darkness in vengeance and hatred

of what once was and the imaginations

of a coming