Death wish.

I listen to the trees, love the way the leaves sing in a summer breeze.
My skin meets the dirt at the bottom of my feet.
Green grass wanders my mind to question.
Religion lost it's God when Jesus was crucified.
The way the sun sweeps across my back and forth back and forth.
The warmth it creates clears all doubt.
   Christian turned heathen, converted Worlock.

The magic we possess is powerful
Black magic outweighs White magic.
Resulting in massive destruction.
We all practice magic.

I try everyday to keep myself from it, religion said it best though. No body's perfect. Some days I wonder what's the point.

Reflections flood my mind of times I was able to preform white magic. That's when I'm reminded why I must rise to practice White magic.

My home is in the hills.
My mind rests in the Meadows.
My conscience keeps company with the wildlife I share this planet with.
The world is my temple.

My soul has been consumed with darkness. I've cast spells of black magic. This is what I regret, I wish to wash my existence from this soul.
In doing this I must ask for your forgiveness, leave my memory in the ditch where I set this soul.

Waking up is when I go to work on creating a new soul. One I wish for you to know.

The world is my temple
I listen to trees.
My savior is the sun I feel it warm me.
This is how I know. God still loves me.