Like a sheep led to the slaughter,
He walked the fine line straight to her altar.
Not pure like driven snow, but
tainted by my own lusts and past life.
Now on her altar, a willing sacrifice.

The sanctuary of her soul filled him.
He was blind, yet she made him see.
An osmotic feeling of love she gave,
all the while he awaited the grave.

He knew the knife was sharp and the mind cunning.
He ignored the signs and the danger coming.
Lust drove her from her very own soul.
She had to be her. She had to be whole.

She knelt him down at her heart’s altar.
For this time her courage can’t fail. She would not falter.
The hair she pulled so many times exposed his heart.
Quick was the cut that tore him apart.

His life’s blood flowed from his very essence
as his crimson life reflected in the moon’s crescent.
He lies on her altar alone and in the dark.
Drained from life with death’s haunting mark.

Dark was the night that he fought in hell.
A night forgiven but not forgotten as well.
She stood as the sun revealed her pain.
Conquered her fear, but his love she’ll never regain.

Sacrificed that she may live, he willingly have his life
in hopes she finds her happiness and ends her strife.
Resurrection comes and new blood begins to flow.
New blood, new life, new friends, new roads to go.

His laughter still infects the core of her soul.
Her fun filled memories neither old or cold.
No regrets given for a love so bold.
As he laid down on her altar of lust, the story grows
still un-told.

rb