The Last Day.

Dust born echoes past the glorious time,
Reflections of the good deeds of past years,
No looking into the future for speculation,
Only today, this morning, afternoon, and night.

Fate gives us denial for the pain in the future,
Because whether you believe in it or not,
It was supposed to be, even this moment,
And the mobius is infinite.

Bloodier Days...

Brother,
Brother,
Toil and smother,
With the best intentions for faith,
There they go,
Over yonder,
Running into their graves.

Here comes Ajisukitakahikone...

The threshold approaches with full force,
With the panic and paranoia overwhelms,
Wishing to infuse friction for unknown conflict,
And you brace to take the full force.

It is too late to run or hide,
Its mind set on full destruction,
And hence only fate can tell,
So it is not your fault.

Rely on fate for tomorrow,
Let all worries go to hell,
What happens tomorrow,
Will happen.

The Back Road.

There was once a lonely boy,
Who named a world to his own whim,
Pretty self explanatory, but far from mandatory.

He knew, he knew the fragments to collect,
To make sense between fiction and reality,
So he lived as he died in fantasy.

It was this that proved the true price of bliss,
Only possible by fantasy,
Yet cruel world would still choose to kill him.

Hermóðr.

The wavering arrows that miss their target,
Symphonic in their crowding irony,
Blessed in purpose for infinite strife,
Blessed be the omniscience of faith,
With the trials and forgotten tribulations,
Forged by calling fanatics for yearn,
But the memories will persist,
Longer than the confusion of combat,
Such being intricacies of forever fate;
Yes, those arrows shall waver.