under these circumstance i have bowed down on my knees, told you my secrets, cried my hell marys, as the cross of i will change is emotioned acrossed my chest, you have been my dreamweaver, fate has cradled, carried and depicted who i am, my soul fills me with my enchantment, my composer, as it sits and watches my progress before my eye's ease of me, my preacher, my soul collector, as a sprinkle of water purifies the onlooker above, professing no mask covers my face, for what you see is me, crossed fingers behind as i kneel in front of a burning candle, many of times did i beg you, many of times did , hug myself for relief of pain's anguish and this is my fate of what hope, forgiveness, betrayal, yes i searched self, and what do i dare, say to you whipser my collecter.




a voice so silent whispered to me
a hint is what i give you, he says, ease of consciousness no, prejudge no, medieviled you, at times my test, captivated your spirit my hope, watched progress, my tears which hovered, yes, rained for you and on you for you to see i sadden but i still you a thrust for what is, yes, my cries the howling wind with roars of thunder, yes, my anger could be, my charade none, motion of joy as the sun rays of reflection gives you a day, yes, but my child a soul collector i could be, fate, essence, is like a message that repeats it self over and over again, i do not beg you, your photo is your graphics of a pattern. your chioce.