Journey

Sit down, oh troubled wandering soul, share your tales untold.

Of all you've seen on your shining, winding road of old.
With ink of blood we'll pen the tales of worlds that fade,
In memory's grasp, we'll slowly, inevitably cascade.

Craft now your tale, before the ink of life does wane,
Before fleeting moments slip, leaving naught but pain.
For now, the die is cast, destiny's decree is clear,
Let your voice ring out, let your story draw near.

The Flowers

Amidst the wilted blooms, in a dance of death's embrace,

We sway, knowing innocence is but a fleeting trace.
Our journey's end looms near, its glow turned to fire's rage,
As we tread paths shattered, torn by life's relentless stage.

Pages of our saga burn, consumed by searing flame,

As we walk on, burdened by guilt and bitter shame.
Yet still, I'll walk alone, my heart ablaze with fire's breath,
Until redemption claims me, until I meet my final death.

No commands, no solace found in hope's gentle kiss,

Only flames to cleanse, to absolve, to grant me bliss.
In a crown of flowers, soaked in the blood of the pure,
I'll find my peace at last, my soul's salvation sure.