The Protector of his Eyes.

Draped in his yellow cloak, he peers out into the utter black with his burning eyes. The utter black stares back into the portals, impatiently waiting for the command to attack. They lie under the grass, void of form, just jealous darkness. They want his eyes.

He puts on his combat boots. He opens the kitchen door, and exits to Ringo, and picks up the bat. He looks up to the tattered sky, and wonders if they'll ever get him. He wonders if it will be the lightning, the weight of Psalv-Muron or the darkness that follows.

The gashes in his hands are deepening. Sometimes, when hes working, they rip open and blood spills lightly to the floor. And thats when that taste, the very taste of arx-ignidermis comes and resides upon his tongue. As we speak, and no matter what he eats, the taste will not leave. He hungers for the world. As he is reminded of his hunger, he clenches his hands, the wounds open, and blood gushes from his fists.

In his pouch are the last of the bandages left to him by the Champ of Angels. About a month ago, they finished there journey together. The Champ of Angels had his own destiny to keep, and as much as the torchbearer would like to follow, The Champ of Angels travels to a place where the Torchbearers foolishness is not allowed.

Honestly it saddens him, but he knew all along that day would come. He just wished it wasn't so soon. He wishes he could just be the Champ's shadow, for the monsters did not attack when they were together. They attack now.

He looks over his shoulder and pulls the bat to his breast. He knows they won't kill him, they never said they would, but they suck away at his soul.

They aim to pry from his hands the eternal anchor. Rearrange his face into that of a blinded bastard scientist. His eyes always search for light, but do not remember what it is. His hands grope for his torch but find only the oil which he is drowning in. Thick black oil. He shakes at the thought of their plans.

The lightning sun sets before him. The stars dissapear behind ashen clouds. His face is wet. It is raining. He was chasing that starlight, but now the waters rising.

Where shall he go.

He goes home. He goes to Blackbird, a decorated child of the King of Day. A noble princess. Holding her in his arms lets everything fade away. The thick clouds start snowing. He is appalled. He asks how. She had been talking to the King, learning his language. The tongue of her ancestors. She could not treat the torch-bearers wounds, so she went to the architect of her beloved puppet. She thought herself to be overtaken by the summonia, and not healthy enough to be in the presence of the King. She took her lifeless legs and leapt the gap between her logic and my fairy tale. She could not recognize the king, for her blood-tyrant, should of been an ambassador. My kind King stepped down to take her hands, and she gave her heart. The most noble King of Day, my Eternal Lover, heard her call. She brings great pride. The Magnificent brings pure adoration.

The white snow casts out their black hearts. He takes a sigh of relief, for he can keep his burning eyes another day. He holds the hand of a princess.

Oh, Jesus. THANK YOU FOR BLACKBIRD!!! Thank you for the sun. You are so lovely.

Listen to Push Away by Versant

The Unrelenting Saint Lucia and The mysterious Superman

My gentle feet lift off the ground. My eyes are shut, I feel nothing but the warm wind fawning on my naked body. Quietly, I hear my very own serenade playing as ambiance in the background. This good life, is unknown to me. As the children of war explained to me, I was actually born on Ringo (though I deny it). The ash and dirt of this glass wasteland is the home of my blackened heart. All these smokers and sufferers kept me hidden amongst heroes they expected to never rise again. The Children of War thought differently.

Do me a favor, listen to me Sweet Forest. Forget all you know. Just follow my lead. Forget the asylum of Sound. Be quiet. Forget the touch of Demons. Be still. Forget your conceptions of just how fucked up it could get. Be at peace. Listen.

Saint Lucia, would not relent. She kept on fighting the Wolf of Impurity. He destroyed her, he took her eyes, he took her life, he took her father. Good soul, she would not relent. Do you understand what that martyr stood for? For the God given right of her purity. She saw that it was evident that the most noble King of Day could be heard with a heart pure. She knew the sweetness of his voice. She understood that it doesn't have to be a violent world. The most noble King of Day took her burdens and Aslan ripped the Wolf of Impurity apart.

The Children of War would not relent. Persistent paranoia plagued me from the inside. I felt betrayed by the Blood Tyrants. I trusted them. They cursed my name. Blackbird didn't believe me. I was losing touch.

The chorus had told me I was something more. They gave me a new weird hope. Like I was really something special. Something to sing about.

And this world. This fucking world. Took that dream and held it crumpled in its dirty hands. Shook my head and said that my heart was what they could never accept. That Impure Wolf, pumped my body with adrenaline. And I bled till I couldn't see God.

My eyes perceived everything WRONG. Smoke rose from the pit where my eye once was, and I cried like a girl when that monster plucked the ball from its socket. My mother took me to the hospital, where the doctors took control. They told me dance, bribed me sing, I told them to leave, but held me close and rocked me till I grew soft.

A specialist, A Saint of Water, The Valiant Patron of Aslan came mounted upon her brilliant steed. I lifted my head from my withering frame, to blast out her soul with the fiery rage of my eyes. Without being phased, she spoke right to that poisoness thorned vine that strangled my ego. She spoke the simple truth, cause she knew Aslan. She in fact adored Aslan, with a little girls heart. She placed healing water upon my hands and mind so that I could have the victory of baptism. This of course infuriated my enemies. That dark wolf and his members sought out to destroy her, but the Children of War would not have it. That enemy has no place our hospitals. They only come to destroy...

As I dove beneath the waves, she met me there, before my lungs could fill. I swam despairingly, in order to retreat from reality. I sought to return to my womb. The comfortable den of mistrust and insanity...

It was like a cat picking up a kitten by his neck. I heard the sweet voice of Jesus. The most noble King of Day pulled us up. His hands were always upon me, quick to hold me. Being in his arms, his strong protecting arms, I wept. He had me, and he wasn't about to let me go. He brushed my hair, he adored me. I was just a child then. I was just being alive in his love. And then to Aslan. He held me up to Aslan. What can I say about Aslan? He is MOST magnificent. MOST glorious. I could do nothing but weep uncontrollably in his presence.

While I was up there, things happened that I was unaware of. My torch, was lit anew. My cape, was replaced. Aslan tore that dirty wolf from my spirit. And devoured him.

Devoured Him. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

I recieved my emblem.

So here I am. Standing with the words of my Holy Father in front of the Children of War. I begin to fly.

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I am at war.

Do you see who they want you see?

I see that predestined plans and my incomprehensibly invisible master holds my little answers. Someone understands, but I'm still waiting, cause they said they loved me.

Paranoid pains twist under my neck and burn deep into my cheeks. Naivety laughs at me as I beg for wisdom and understanding.

Why Lord? Why am I such a fool? Why am I lame?

I answer the door. I greet the stranger with two hands. Will he let the light in? Will he come and tell me how?

Will he save my soul?

My God! You are a foreigner! You were cast out to sea, to retrieve gems of validation and true hope. The wolf came and granted me comfort in your absence. I said no. By hell he's the devil. He plays the cassettes constantly in my ear. I still scream, he is upon me. He tears his claws ripping the blood from my soul, leaving a rotten black coat. My evil epidermis latches onto me but never upholds my body.

I hold onto my torch, an engagement gift. I am helpless without it. It is but a small reminder of the ETERNAL SUN. Tonight my torch is dim. Is it my spirit that fuels the torch or his?

That question burns. Does the stranger know?

Foreigner? Have you met the Juggernaut? The wolf grew sick of my resistance, so he strung together a plot, an ambush if you will. I rest my heart and lungs and pull over to refuel. I attempted to step out of the fray and frame the colors and shapes into a more fitting fashion. This was not to happen. He was there. He was waiting, and had forecasted my retreat.

The juggernaut is what a Superman would be void of the Eternal Sun. This is why he terrifies me so. My rapier of brilliant passion and the abuser's assailant zweilhandler have no effect against his might. I am beaten blunt till I meet the enormity of madness. He reached into the void you left, I choking with his hand down my mouth. The chaos of your absence was extracted from its prison and put into battle with the little power I have to reason. I was driven at once into hysterical convulsions and black holes of twisted compulsion.

Oh GREAT GOD! Blackbird was with me as he came upon me a second time. Her tender hand was placed to heal me and what horror! I thought to take it and break it. My sweet Blackbird!

Stranger, wake me up inside. Tell me theres a reason, to take another step, to get up off my knees and, follow this path of most resistance. I know my nose bleeds, I know my heart skips more beats than it should. I have no answer for how I would have true victory over the terror of the adversary; and God, I have no idea on how I could possibly retreat! Oh most noble Prince of Day! They plot my demise. They pollute my soul! And my soul stays silent, unable to move in an earthquake.

I am unable to move in an earthquake. Only the fire of my torch keeps me unfrozen in this disheartening terrain. I need my torch, for I fear I am at war.

I am at war. And that realization is long overdue.

Lord, have victory. I find myself tapping my foot to the ticking of a timebomb. I find myself lighting candles to overpower the smell of the cyanide in my food. I find that desperate flight is a frequent use of my time. I long for the Joy of the Lord, and perhaps to be understood, but most dearly, a sanctuary in which I am safe. The inequity of this impossible situation enrages me, but what can I do, for it is just food for him. Be kind to me Lord. I know this challenge should belong to a man with a better soul, but you sent me instead. I know that it is your fire which saves me, so I send this ever-desperate plea to touch your heart. Savior, I know your name.