iaremyne.

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O ye of little faith.

I stared as the usher wheel you up the ramp and into the sanctuary. Your wheelchair glides soundlessly over the glistening tiles. If I had closed my eyes, I would not have noticed your presence; oblivious like the rest of the crowd.   I stared as your head lay cocked to the side; your eyes never focused. The gnarled

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Storm.

I can hear its coming; The early signs of its procession; despite the distance. The storm, in all its grandeur and magnificence, is on its way. Lightning, striking in his golden suit led the way; Rain, dressed in blue and silver, followed suit, equally breathtaking. The occasional flash of electric, reminded me of a photographer,

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Bring Me To Life.

An angel, she treads on the cold heartless land; In search for a lost soul she could save from the damned, She walked along a lonely path, with her wings folded back; She searched, yet she couldn’t find, for he was not alive yet. She stumbled on a hand; she stops in her tracks; The

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