Oh, But you are alone. Who knows what you've spoken to the darkness, in the bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in about you, A hutch to trammel some wild thing. So fair, So cold, like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winters chill.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while you may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Here I go again. Slipping, falling, stumbling in. No hope for me, I fall so easily. Like a puppet on a string, here I go tumbling.

Lord, give me something to hold on to. Lord give me something to hold on to. Lord, I can't fall again. Lord, I won't fall again. Lord, I - fell again.

Give me something real - Something that I can feel. I search your word but I can't see, how this power applies to me. I fall so easily, Where's the answer I can't see.

Lord, give me something to hold on to. Lord give me something to hold on to. Lord, I can't fall again. Lord, I won't fall again. Lord, I - fell again.

Holy Spirit can't you see, what this is doing to me. Save me from myself; because I can't seem to help myself.

Lord, give me something to hold on to. Lord give me something to hold on to. Lord, I can't fall again. Lord, I won't fall again. Lord, I - fell again.

Despair is the loss or absence of Hope. Hope is the belief that something we desire will happen. The pain of Despair is rooted in the betrayal of what we believe life owes us, in what might have been, in what could be and isn't. It is the morning of the death of a life that can't be taken.

Life is really a matter of self-delusion, isn't it? People tell themselves that this or that will make them happy and, when they finally have their heart's desire, they find that they're no different at the end of their journey than when they began. Prize what you will, prize what you can, but always remember...even he who dies with the most prizes still dies. To love...and to be loved--that's the heart's desire. No man could wish for more. Or should.

When you trade freedom for security you end up with neither.

"Some fought and lived forever
Others fought and died in flame
But I slept through the battle
and perished just the same."

Arrogant faces of solemn smothering figures
Expressions of dingy soldiers
Tattered shivering homeless ashamed
The soft laughter of the conqueror.

Through the Murkwood

In passing through the wayward wood, cloaked by the branches that form the cathedral of my way, I stopped and stooped to spy a coin illuminated by an errant beam of lunar essence that by might of effort or divine persuading survived its vast journey through expanse, clouded sky, and the arms of my wooded sentinels to alight my mind. Touching not the coin for fear of disturbing such a delicate cantation I perceived the face of the coin as the face of one so enthralled with that upon which he perceives as to enkindle my own desire. Lifting head and tracing beam I could but perceive at first the entry point of that sole beam I admired. It seemed I sat and strained upon my vaulted dome not but a moment longer than it took to become accustomed to my new position amidst this murky trail when at the perceivable edge of hearing I made out the faint but increasing sounds of a whispering rolling army establishing new orders among the sentinels of this wood. A sweet and warm breeze that approached with more fury of sound then substance which upon its departing left me with my own newly formed reflected beam of silver. Long there I sat understanding ever more of the nature of this light and the wonders it now afforded. Until at the last there were but two coins within the mud no longer traveling along this wayward path fixed until the dawn.

It's not until the pain of your prison exceeds it's rewards that you are truly able to escape.

Then Iluvatar spoke, and he said: 'Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Iluvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will show them forth, that ye may see what ye have done. An thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that atempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.'
...
And as they looked and wondered this World began to unfold its history, and it seemed to them that it lived and grew. And when the Ainur had gazed for a while and were silent, Iluvatar said again: 'Behold your music! This is your minstrelsy; and each of you shall find contained herein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added. And thou, Melkor, wilt discover all the secret thoughts of thy mind, and wilt perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory.'

There can be no Triumph without loss.
No Victory without suffering.
No Freedom without sacrifice.

It only takes a moment to see something special in a person.
A second to get to know them.
A minute to fall in love,
and a lifetime to forget them.

We are not among the living and so we cannot die but neither are we dead. For too long I’ve been parched with thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I’ve been starving to death and haven’t died. I feel nothing, not the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of a woman’s flesh. The drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust. We are cursed men. Compelled by greed we were, and now we are consumed by it. So what now? Will it be it two immortals locked in an epic battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound? Or you could surrender.

Darkness dawns upon my days, my anguish, chained within its mud. In solitude. In solitude. In dark dawns of still, sweet, nights. Quiet as the sounds of thought and as loud as solitude itself. I am condemned and rightly so - The griffin chained within my tarnished soul.

In the darkest days of the unwritten lore there was told a legend that's been all but forgot. It is engraved upon all flesh and yet only seen in the common themes of the worlds mythos. Ragnarok, Gotterdammerung, Armageddon.