Shadow of The Bleeding Sun
Time is only lost when it is forsaken and love in hand is bound by mercy,
For sickness is sweet when the mind is blind,
And what’s controlled in contempt is compromised in vain,
as the enemy is wine if your heart is empty like the sky of a starless night,
for what’s kept close in sin is held in secret,
just like gold as the fool's dream as true blood is pondered not,
The painted wing becomes man’s lust as the taste of victory is better in the arms of fate as the twilight,
And a winter rose is sun-kissed even if it’s swallowed by December’s shame,
So be it in blood,
For what’s sought is bestowed by the Father as the glass hand of fire’s ring,
For what matters most is faith in mystery as the future foretold,
Because what’s benign and blameless in regard is unfound in resolve when equating to the morality of the bleeding sun’s revenge,
And what’s conceived in whim is seen by passing eyes burning in the grave…
Copyright © Tyler Barlow | Year Posted 2026
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