Blood, the precious elixir of life. It flows to each pulse of the heart. For what it is and what it does bring are wonders; a miracles, as it unites flesh and soul, and boils to steam with love and hate. When it is anew, bright and vibrant for life as a lush crimson rose about to blossom to such splendor. When it is to be taken, it is a darker crimson meant as a ward against death as if the thorns of a rose to keep fools from rushing in to pluck too irrationally or without reason.
Blood, it flows gently but quite firm to each beat of the heart in perfect harmony. So similar this is to Lady Lunas hymn to the ocean to tide. As the moon wax and wanes so does the waters of the world move back and forth to the rhythm of Her hymn. A natural order seen in a greater miracle, for not only does the blood unite flesh and soul, but the whole world if one would only look, If we would even listen. If you would hear it, you would hear the sounds of a drum beat. A beat to keep the legions of war in step as they march on what they were engineered to hate. Each step crushing life and stone beneath their demonic feet. Soulless empty creatures with dark hearts and black blood containing but one purpose as our nemesis, to bring death. Or the beats of a joyous dance to quicken pulse, further speeding up the rhythm cycling through an array of exotic and erotic emotions until hearts form an embrace and beat in unison. A dance of both love and lust, of flesh and soul.
Blood, a blossom of a rose bush. Beautiful and protective of its own, yet having so much more to it than its miraculous appearance. The deep crimson of the older blossoms foretells of recycling of life and the birth of new more vibrant blossoms, whereas the new blossoms speak in tongues of passion and lust. Long stems help keep these out of reach of those not yet ready to handle such intense feelings, and the thorns with prick and tare at those who grasp without respect and romance. With my heart in hand, I reach out to you. Here is my rose. By my soul, let it always bloom for you as both a dying blossom and one anew, for both are of great beauty and hold heavy these words. They are beautiful just like you. Listen to them, they too sing Lunas hymn and the waters of you sorrow will tide away. So you fear not the pain, these hands have taken the thorns and will bleed. This is my gift to you for I love you. Forget me not as lover or sister. I am hear for you. I will love you. I can only wish the same. Ego amare te.
Blood, it flows gently but quite firm to each beat of the heart in perfect harmony. So similar this is to Lady Lunas hymn to the ocean to tide. As the moon wax and wanes so does the waters of the world move back and forth to the rhythm of Her hymn. A natural order seen in a greater miracle, for not only does the blood unite flesh and soul, but the whole world if one would only look, If we would even listen. If you would hear it, you would hear the sounds of a drum beat. A beat to keep the legions of war in step as they march on what they were engineered to hate. Each step crushing life and stone beneath their demonic feet. Soulless empty creatures with dark hearts and black blood containing but one purpose as our nemesis, to bring death. Or the beats of a joyous dance to quicken pulse, further speeding up the rhythm cycling through an array of exotic and erotic emotions until hearts form an embrace and beat in unison. A dance of both love and lust, of flesh and soul.
Blood, a blossom of a rose bush. Beautiful and protective of its own, yet having so much more to it than its miraculous appearance. The deep crimson of the older blossoms foretells of recycling of life and the birth of new more vibrant blossoms, whereas the new blossoms speak in tongues of passion and lust. Long stems help keep these out of reach of those not yet ready to handle such intense feelings, and the thorns with prick and tare at those who grasp without respect and romance. With my heart in hand, I reach out to you. Here is my rose. By my soul, let it always bloom for you as both a dying blossom and one anew, for both are of great beauty and hold heavy these words. They are beautiful just like you. Listen to them, they too sing Lunas hymn and the waters of you sorrow will tide away. So you fear not the pain, these hands have taken the thorns and will bleed. This is my gift to you for I love you. Forget me not as lover or sister. I am hear for you. I will love you. I can only wish the same. Ego amare te.