Submissions by megalOmaniac

Three phases of allotted time,
Raw, Ripe and Rotting.
The Spirit's pilgrimage called Life,
Ever constantly gyrating.
For every hurdle that one leaps above,
A scar upon the skin,
A scar such only you can see,
With roots that reach within.
A final glance into the mirror,
A stranger you will find,
A strength you never knew you had,
Refined, transitioned Mind.
Nothing ever changes the way We do,
To now seeing, from once blind.
Since the black, it faded off to gray,
And the rest we left behind.

Walk amidst the leafy darkness,
Shadows may well be spirits.
The endless chasm that opens above you,
Awaiting the sap thats about to leave.

Tiny domes of red and black,
That drop a trail of you behind,
For the ones that creep,
Inspiring what you leave in your wake.

As you fall senseless,
The life force now run dry,
'They' kneel around your shell.
They press your fleeting soul back in.

But then She comes along,
The haunting epitome of times bygone,
Step by step she makes her way,
Into visions she then...