Theft Of Yore:The Lynch Of Innocence.

His bleeding soul brings mirth
To the seer of his pain,
The tear of skin
His slient weep,
A breathe ever so deep,
A fall to the depth of one's soul
For what he is he dies.

Theft of Yore: The Dark Embrace

Futile feelings filled with empty faces
Smudge minds with a fright of defeat,
Pitch-darkness soothes yet slays their
Eyes with a pinch of silence.
Above is an answer to their melancholy
Above is a key to sway the darkness,
Constant gasps,
Necks chained tight,
Succinctly some lives end.

Defeated hope reigns to rule
Souls of lost wishes…
Thoughts of their queens and seeds
And kingdoms clout to make them
Kings dead to their people.
Men sniveling
Burning bodies
Is the dearth of our gods the
Cause of their onyx visit?


Drowning in emotions numbness
Is not too far,
Awakened by the spirits
The sky blinds as the carnage of
Their making incarcerates the soothsayer’s
Trance to be a master of his own world.
To live and beg for mercy
Is to die without poise.

Theft Of Yore: Voyage Of Adieu

She weeps in vain
As she sings out the venomous
Affliction in her veins,
The crest of her cry,
The death of her being
Solemnly resonate the
Fatality of her chaste soul,
Her back stripped with
Asphalt are remnant of the
Whisks of yore.

Away she sails
To the land unknown,
Wretched with woe
She wears the skin
Of eternal silence
As the wind blows her away
To the land of her death.

A mind of prongs,
A heart of odium
Lurks every night
Her virgin soul is raped
By soreness of creeping solitude,
Closing eyes her she hides
From that which she fears,
In the thick air she sinks,
Thinking of unsullied breathes
Of a home embezzled by the
Dreaded voyage of adieu.


Her womb grows a dark seed,
Secretly she prays for death to
Awake her when her life is over,
Her brick runny spills to sluice the
Sanctity of the gods she knows,
With her eyes closed she dies

Softly never to breathe again.

Theft Of Yore™

Her skin as dark as oil
Crack like drying lava,
Her eyes brown as earth
She cries scarlet tears of the
Agony of their dire ruse,
Open like a wound she is
Time can only expunge her times of yore.


Never to see mother nor the smell
The scent of untainted space
She kneels to he who wishes to
Be called master and praised by her
Dark worthless soul,
Never to breathe the warmth of the
African sun...she freezes from the pain
Bestowed by he the evil soul thief.

The sun shines not
Her eyes see not
The beauty of mankind,
Engraved in her is a mist
Of their dark intentions,
Screeching brass shackles
Bleeding necks,
Sore feet,
Lost tongues,
Broken yore.
Branded foreheads reveal
A new name unknown by its
Owner,

A street paved with bones
Lite by the pain of skulls
A river of our red crimson
Takes us to our death as
The masters jeer enjoying every
Moment of the death of our cores.

A breath to take
A promise to make for
This to never ever recur.