Make-Believe

Carry me into arms of fire ablaze

with swords of love shining down

like heaven’s eyes

I cry rivers of sorrow to be kept

in crystal glasses made from

divine perspiration

Strokes of anguish set the fountains

flowing like mad into chambers

of mercy

Swift dashes of cold air sending

me to hide in exile from my

deepest desires

Forbidden truce exists in worlds of

make-believe and I wondered why

I come running

Shadows of my torn soul sit in

crooked alleys of the morbid

world beneath

Half-reaching to climb the stairways

to free conscience of warlock

twisted in anger

I fly not to grab a strand of hair

that passes me by with lingering

scent of hatred

Reside I shall in that nest of amber

till the fantasy of joy blow me to the

path of sanity