Apollo-Love-Io

Cry havoc Cry blood Our revenge Is at hand

Birds tap at the double pane of insecurity, feathers brushing cold chemicals, which fall like precipitation and notes. Taxi cabs spray puddles at isolated patrons, standing beside cables and coin slots. For someone to cry out, through the murky water, to call, to save insanity. When juxtaposition of abstract and concrete fails, and everything blurs, it all remains indistinguishable forever more. Light fractures, spilling color like marrow, smearing makeup, kissing forgotten cheeks, and jutting jaws that defy sorrow, forcing silence into a small, black, box. Infinitesimal agitation destroys the shroud of calm, and the sobriety of hea

Death before dishonor For honor is our lifeblood. Our blood will forge a Thousand Generations. We shall fight. Not for vengeance, nor for hatred. Fight for the death of the corrupt, Those who would Strike at the foundations of all that we stand for. We stand not for evil, nor for filth, We stand as a light, a cleansing flame that shall cut Out the hearts of the wretched, and rout The wicked tongue of heresy. Surrounded and outnumbered, we thrive. It is better to be few and true of heart, Than to be legion and corrupt. And so we shall march like an army, And fall upon our foes like blessed seraphim, As harbingers of death. Is

Remember, Remember A time in a place When this world was Blessed With the archangel's Grace How these angels have fallen Faces downcast Remember, remember Lest we forget our past

As the last ounce of blood Leaves my body I'll never be alone I find comfort in my brothers' arms I find my bittersweet home I find refuge in the death and strife Because it is all I've ever known

Prophetic and poetic, and highly aesthetic; An objective, a directive, relatively subjective, if not immediately corrective, to the wrongs and the rights, to the arguements and fights, to the spirit of the time, to the rhythm of the rhyme; Throw down or just clown, I can't frown, I might drown; I'm neurotic, and chaotic, in my modus operandi, this isn't what I planned I, I can hardly stand guys, I think I might just die; It's sick, and maybe a bit around the bend, but I kind of welcome it, maybe I can see my friends, and a few others too, Manners, and Honor, and a little bit of Loyalty, is that too much to ask of me? Will I ever be free, can