Born of hallowed love – a work in progress

Born of hallowed love.
Tainted and fated
by prophecy;
a higher purpose she wished
to be unburdened by.

Cursed blood.
The key to salvation,
in death only.

Cursed with age.
The envy of her immortal brethren.

Unwilling to continue a sacrifice,
to fight
to die
for another’s cause
and never her own.

She leads her own crusade
in search of herself

In misery feigned
her devotion to her line
and yet accepted
for there was no other way
no other purpose of her being
than to be as a vessel.

For what is one life,
her life, to the lives of man?

© 2017

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So lost (part 4) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one
Read part two
Read part three


Betrothed to what was stolen from her.
And when once removed of it, removed from her was her use for me.

And yet, as my mind wandered, as I was at war with myself, I could not convince myself of anything. Caught by conviction, I forced myself to move on as if she never existed. Removed her from my memory, just as the spell she had over me.

And not from me, she’ll ever again feel.

© 2016

So lost (part 3) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one
Read part two
Read part four


And not for me, she’ll ever feel.

And tainted of her blood, like a spell, I have forgotten love. I forbade myself her, from loving her. Forever as a spectre within my mind. My love for her never returned. But never forgotten, the horror of her losing herself. Her happiness, herself, she was robbed of those things when she chose to live life in mourning.

© 2016

So lost (part 2) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one
Read part three
Read part four


Crestfallen, she falls and I do nothing. She has driven herself to this. There is nothing I can do. And though I love her, I cannot.

I have seen the monster within, the one incapable, unwilling, to surrender to happiness and love. And though my hands are washed of her blood, the torrents stain.

Stains which last, scoring the flesh. Never to be free of her.

© 2016

So lost – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part two
Read part three
Read part four


So lost, she’s gone to me. Gone from me. And though I have shown her what love is, what it means to feel love, she doesn’t see it, she doesn’t feel it. Not from me. And though she has betrayed me, manipulated my heart into feeding her delusions, I cannot break the spell over me. I love her and she’ll never return it.

© 2016

She speaks to angels

This is a work in progress.


She:
Breaking through these hardships
though I’d never looked up from the roses
when the darkness reached the silence
and the sorrow in his eyes

I was lost
and lonely
and so cold in there
Forgotten beneath the stars
I took all of his love
And fought it through the night

Embracing all of the madness
So lost was my mind…
Lost
so lost
inside

He:
She speaks to angels
Burns and decays
And flies away…
From her heart
in which sombrous daemons dwell
tearing me from her

© 2016

Justine – work in progress

Virtue cries
as it weakens to vice
And she falls…
to her own grotesque sin
of growing pride;
the vain delight in her purity.

Her penitence cannot win
against a sinful world.

Justine’s prize
taken; a price
She feels…
everything.

She winces, she cries
And forced lone into the night
But lost Justine, she’s found again
And taken to that domain;
to a fate before the gallows
to a fate preordained.

But for the moment she is saved
A fire stole away her death
and so she holds her breath,
awaiting her next moral decay…

…when she is next enslaved.

Probing her innocence
and tearing her faith
to bleed her rue…
for her insolence.
Searing flesh beneath the brand
bones cracking under their hand
Dehumanised, she feels…
it all.

“Death!” she cries but her God has fled
and no mercy granted in the rueful bed.

Broken womanhood, and she…
sullied from within.
Ruined innocence, and she…
victim of their original sin.

The death of her,
body and mind
ever-agonising;
her whole life defined
and to an end
unseen by her.

Never again to win against;
her fate preordained.

© 2016