Ok... umm... this is my first poem... and I'm kinda worried about it.
It's to someone specifically... and she'll know who she is...

Devil's Maid


If the Turth is real,
why is it so fleeting?
Do I stare at a lie again,
unsure of this daily meeting

The truth runs from me,
as if scared to live
But is it really necessary,
for truth an image give?

What if the truth runs
for it hides itself
Masked in a shroud of lies,
afraid for it be felt.

But if this be so
the truth is a lie
And if true it be,
the truth will surely die.

For what I see now
cannot be truth,
For if it is
my mind be uncouth

All I wish is...
is to be shown
The truth that hides
in a lie too well known.

I yern to know
for my life's meaning be
Break free these chains
that have binded me.

But in my haste
I have forgotten well
I've forgotten the Angel
who's lead me from Hell

"Be strong," she says
this Angel of mine
But she doesn't understand
for it worsens through time

At once, 'twas the /sound/
followed by the /sight/
But now it's the /sight/

followed by /fight/

I see the world
truth and lie mixed
And I stop to wonder
can this be fixed?

That whish is felt
when life becomes death
Is more than that
which frightens the best

For when eyes meet Angel
I feel the pain
That whish is brought
That which is brought
with nothing to gain

The knife's no longer seen
for in my hand it's felt
My Angel - I am weak
for you death I have delt

I want to run
but am scared to hit
The wall of truth
or lie that fits

I understand now,
oh angel of mine
The truth and the lie
are /not/ intertwined

The pain is real
the death is felt
I hold the dagger
and /feel/ its hilt

I smeel the fear
I smell the fear
and taste the blood
I see my Angel dead
beauty stained with mud

I beg of you, my Angel
please understand
That I see them /all/
dead by my hand

For I am the killer
I have grown to fear
My weakness is immortal
for those I hold dear

I want to look
but I am afraid
My weakness, oh Angel
is the Devil's Maid

My life I wish end for it be too sinister
Please, oh angel, help me, my sister

I hope you understand...
--Viatora Selket, Sorceress

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Valnuary, in the year 394 AF.