The Ring
Soul is infinite, unmeasurable and unending.
From the depths and heights of the space within,
every thing I am, you were and they mean to be
makes a pure and corrupted centre that sets us free.
Our subconcious thoughts bind a breath to break,
with the density of fog, oozing dark treacle inside the skin.
The soul stains sombre society and the insane,
birthing the mind, that makes up the brain.
Felt from the moment before you see a great thing
and the second after the relief of giving in,
my precious that I won't lose but some can't bear to win
is the favourite place never visited that won't be seen again.
Firmly forming the juxtaposition of feeling and thought
to shape what is right and what is taut.
Human hearts are made of mans veal
and armies die to embrace an ideal.
It is what causes skin to shiver
and forms that cold feeling in the liver.
Sometimes bringing life to blood
occasionally blood to life.
It is the humour in horror,
the abhorrence of the beautiful turned bad,
spawning of sorrow felt for the unknowingly sad.
This is the spirit that whispers your dreams as you sleep
sprinkling salt in your tears, to make emotions plentiful and cheap.
More than this list and less as well
it makes our heaven and forms our hell.