Defiance, flung far out across disastrous days.

the best it may give me can only hold this lonely soul within myself,

perchance,

some flashing glimpse beyond what life requires of me,

the beauty remains unchanged,

bright-burning and unconcerned with human values which cannot hold up against this,

darkness disappears with mere a twilight glint of the moon's heavenly climb,

she handed me a solitary rose,

blue petals reflect semblances of a life long lost,

i waited breathlessly holding back words deemed foolish and that will be vanquished by her resistance,

how beautiful she is always kept my hopes undissolved,

a mighty power which weakens the most fearless of mortal men but somehow served to carry forth my passion and appetite for believing fictions we fought desperately

to be true,

Carefully suppressing the hell that awaited the return of suffering through fire and the storm,

Neither death nor God had changed my intention that she was worth standing for.

Thus, I remained alone, a burning vessel of war against myself and my defiance of fate’s inevitable conclusion.

He Writes Love,

-Xtian

Touching your skin is heaven's most sacred greatness,

I marvel at my hand running down your face as some never come to meet love's true substances.

Go gentle out upon what you seek,

By angels watching each night and day,

I remember when we said forever,

I opened all my heart to love

Like autumn leaves that drop down to wooded steeps, our world hath chang'd to bitter scorn and mock what we thought fares with eternity's stream,

Now you hate every part of me and

Bid farewell to life with our hearts completely,

Perhaps I never touched you as you touched me,

Dearest love, you grip the sun in my world, Truth matters not in your sculptured thought; how sadly i call to you now,

How long before this dream is banished?

Death be more contented than this cruel decree,

Long years are measured against barriers now gone, neither sneer nor hell had taken us apart;

it is irony not lost on me that a dreadful fiction crumbled our affinity,

A star interrupts the heavens as night holds you,

I see your reflection upon this river where memory claims our lives entwined;

What has happened here?

You were happy with love. but now thou fall beneath waves that pull you away

unto death’s mournfull sight,

I have promis'd thee always to fight for your sake,

If indeed abandon ship should be the only answer found to make you rise above the sea, I wont let you drowned now,

Even if it means endless shadow below the depths for me.

He Writes Love,

-Xtian

make all conflicts to melodies,

break through this clime,

we fell amid awful shadow,

slowly into one another,

bewitching enigma,

the old world's attire belongs among them,

singing as though an angel's grace is useless and broken,

but that which conquered death shall draw me down to knee,

some old sorrow to relieve the chances missed as we dance among the mortal clay,

back from her beginnings, disappointments of love and virtue reach for all who lay under its headstone and extinguished words,

"dread not thy heart's ache,

in hopeless longing lives the lesson",

little more than mortal voices lost between the sound of you and me,

within our hands a promise held,

made to eternally be,

but writhen is love and mercy,

as one above and far below,

a song of collisions may well beseem thy soul,

by virtue hath made ready at once,

a poet's heart surely must go further than love's own domain;

and brighter days are ahead somewhere on our way back home.

He Writes Love

-Xtian

Of all who mourn'd

He made their weeping song seem more predictable stale rituals and customs,

A long line with wry complaisance in every face with equanimity as a meager dissimulation of imperiousness,

It seemed not she deserve a veritable wistful honor?

Tears once again bled like wounds from him at what he could only perceive as pure transgressions of an absolute tragedy.

Beauty, gracility of her very soul, an unspeakable vibrancy that resonate with him to his core were the glories that were to be her rememberings and anything but would be infamy, a disgrace.

An indignant furious tempest arose from his heart while beholding their covert insouciance,

Indulgence, vice, depravity was the dealer of her death through the eyes of the impudent, a poison to fulfill base desire,

But he could see in her no fault, no sin in longing for sweet euphoria, a heart that felt so strongly it hurt, an old soul trapped in a young girl yearning, hoping and questioning why, confused and frustrated at the inability of others to distinguish the contrast she so easily discern, to observe the beauty in all that she so effortlessly recognize, to grasp the meaning and value she was to comprehend so naturally... why does an existence that is at the tips of our fingers seem so impossible to attain to most when the ease of the achievement is seemingly born in others?

Most importantly, why does the blindness of the masses to see life shining as brightly as she take its toll so heavily on the souls that believe it's possibility is all but just dawning on the horizon?

And by what superiority did they belong as to pass down their verdict without knowing?

He would be no better to condemn for he suffered the same disease, demons that haunt him without end in sight.

No, they would never understand,

They possess not the hand she tried to touch the world with, not the highest hopes for all things that were and what could be,

She would, in the unknowing eyes, always be a pity, a waste, an addict,

To him she was a poet, an angel,

a heroin.

For Katie, rest now,

I promise I'll find you,

Shine On baby girl,

He Writes Love,

-Xtian

as i watch it crumble away with all the dreams that have come and faded,

my heart beats slowly,

distraught without end.

with such effectual working of our most complex ideas, fear destroys each flower and fruit that bare a greater sense of purpose.

heights unguessed by our own imperfections bathe gloriously bright in early morning light,

but breaks into a thousand whirling pieces before crashing into this bitter house.

solitude is never quite as miserable as the moon would have you believe,

there is something inside it that i miss.

the night comes soft, gentle, embracing each one of my greatest fables with such content as though it grieves with me,

protective, and welcomes me to live forever in her arms.

yet, while the world withers,

i am sure i will take back this grace,

divinely woven with its magic influence, obscurely spotted with blood fallen from pride and hope,

once upon another's dream

i fell apart.

it was only imaginary, temporary, and untrue.

-Xtian

Imperfection is perfection,

the world you know is a stage

in the dream among dreams,

love the glorious imperfections of

you and the reflections of your heart

that you call the world,

that you call your life.

what has become of our hearts,

all this world is beautiful

but still, dark thoughts billow,

no man knows who hath sold his soul

for every ocean hides a floor below,

how sweet the rose you give to me,

how distracting from its thorns,

with every breath you take a piece,

your symbol of conquest now adorns

my lips, my heart, my spirit, my fight,

have you brought me here to bleed?

no doubt, delight in pain i can't

today is the only guaranteed,

let us retrace our hearts path,

follow the breadcrumbs back

from whence we came to be,

between heaven and you

resides but only sky

possibility is all i see

oh, where did fate lead you

you're not the angel that i knew

now a trail of feathers

is all i see

and i find nothing but

wings you outgrew

-Xtian

I see fire blaze, like you love how I love,

If your heart wasn’t meant for me then no longer can my compass be trusted,

We both know who turned against gravity,

I cannot understand anything but love for the world,

The lost and the broken,

Bleeding hearts and the vain,

No more than mere children deserving of forgiveness for not knowing what they do.

The jigsaw pieces you tore from me I struggle to put together again,

Yet your hatred makes you no less worthy of my love,

I forgive you,

I am to blame for everyrhing i see,

The view outside is nothing but

a reflection of me.

He Writes Love

-X͟͟t͟͟i͟͟a͟͟n͟͟

You have lost me in the smoke of the inferno that has consumed us. But I am forever here. Calling, searching, with my hand outstretched in the blackness hoping with all hope that your hand grasps mine and we can run to safety together.

for all we have is hope, memories of heaven adored and upheld, as nostalgia goes walking through every broken life,

Last words could never belong,

creeping through us only too deceive,

Resentment boldly marches onward.

remember when you hold your heart against another, our soul should grow from making waves, there is great mystery in everything truly beautiful,

Every day is more painful as knowledge reveals a world saudade with its own divine potential.

one after another, catastrophic consequences stretched themselves beyond our line of sight, tears streamed into our minds and of any cause we have forgotten,

only remaining fears persist,

without notice of its influence.

Oh how our enchanted wanderings cease repeating words

conveyed through dark passages of truth and honesty.

beyond humanistic wisdom is timeless serenity unequal to the heavens alone,

but only found in silent protest of anything less than what it is that our spirits truly deserve and the courage to confess yourself to the heart within your heart.

strip off the robes of ritual and the echoes of your sin,

answering maiden's heart,

fire brings forth radiant forms which Despair itself denies all shapes between heaven and a kiss.

when bold embraces keep hope alive among mortals, blood-stain'd hands reach for sanctuary's entrance where another breathe easily explains another aggression.

No surprise appeared before taking careful study,

scanning eyes blackened with apathy, it seemed indistinguishable that everything will expire and nothing could damage their empire, as it was only an idea,

extrapolated from their clandestine division. It was not something that could be torn down, but would end once the kingdom should fall.

Now it appeared,

astounded in its wake, Struggle throws himself beneath men's strife,

arrogant, proud, triumphant suffering.

I accept, i love all that it is, in and of its glorious potential.

precipice on the horizon, illuminating the end....

And the beginning.

-Xtian

hang myself among the leaves.

dead, fallen, a memory of what i was before,

winter winds possess destiny, a way home.

all things remain alone within the cold truthful end,

forever is stillness,

a long embrace shared under our soul,

and thus we began to weep again.

farewell evening's gentle counsels,

those sweet lullabies,

i shall remain forever frozen by countless tellings that once spoken outward entangle me, dance... then dissipate,

mark my soul as I call for more in this quiet and lonely place,

as they pass along beneath harps of thine immortal memory, hope has flown from whence i sought to discover forgotten revelries.

Here, however, without uttering words of apology, never another struggle form'd, lonely hours grow to know everything we believe of god's image, warped with such abandon though not dishonored in name,

i feel free and loved only known by revelations of broken hearts,

But a thousand charms appear divine when engraved on walls surrounding death's relentless claim,

anew each night before the dawn,

i hear you whispering through every maiden's speech "The Lord knows nothing of beauty faded or love evolved to hate, let each day prove to serve endless possibilities of fate."

No pain endured or hurt compare to existing forevermore inbetween our worlds, in winter's cell.

Peace is nothing without your ghost and what i thought was hell.

h̶e̶ w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶s̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶

-X̶t̶i̶a̶n̶