Little feather

A field so subtle, so silent a new field,
Who wouldn’t pick and store in their room?
A little further, his heart was running,
Though could only walk so far before he stopped,
Every step was the stick that beats his drum,
A falling leg and so his soul stuck to view,
Sighs and gasps could not tear him apart,
A sound was falling into decay,
This feeling could not last so long,
Sought himself a better place than this,
How long could he stay in the place he sees?
A secret known but could never reveal, Read More

Distance known

We’re miles away from a distant shore,
However separate but soon far apart,
It follows me: the wind ere its change,
We’re coming back into land,
The sight of reach and thus it stares,
A life that fate guides is more this sound,
Aligned by stars I sight the moon,
This life that I give myself reprieve,
She’s coming back from the woods into eaves,
The breeze she sees and is not so violent,
She sees me again and the trees astound,
The woods are singing her valiant return,
When she returns I’ll bestow another gift, Read More

The dance of K.

She wanted to sleep, could not but feel,
This sight of the park simply tore her,
The breathing of dust the sight of thought,
Another day had lingered into her past,
She remembered the past so well but saw birds,
The birds wandered through her and spoke,
A little thought so wild soon she saw.
I don’t wanna feel you in dark no more,
This light scorches my face but I live,
There’s a word that means to move on;
A means of madness in all of us,
After she swallowed an entire pack.
She’s still dancing around to laugh,
A fauna in the eye, a breeze in lieu,
Sound of lust that anguishes into woe,
With what rhyme no maths can never dim,
Few with the creases of barks that fall,
A gesture of sun and hope soon departs,
Left alone in the breaches of fate allude,
For more is less the hope that kindred sighs,
Her head in the sight of beau, and she goes;
But there she walks behind: she feels again.

Nurse’s tale

Later that day an entire night ensued,
Passes away was he a night long endured,
Though known his mistakes what tale to take,
So far unending his breach of heart was all too fake,
Was twice at home and thrice alone,
As always remained only his phone,
But weeps his heart such silence fought,
Could not dare utter the dreams he sought,
The sun still shone but bitter departing,
Another to draw; his poison yet so darting,
An hour what remains his minutes to complain,
The age he leaves what scars remain,
Here far his road from home yet simple to follow,
Though could never return such feelings so hollow,
Ere just his eyes were closed no motion too soon,
Hears a ring daring to answer if not a boon,
Ere the nurse rang he could only sigh and swallow,
Though she knows not all is ended nor to wallow,
Asks what he wants most of all, knowing not his state,
Whispers at the phone some silent comment to fate:
That despite my life so low this pressure,
Can only ask for love to assure,
But soon he passes from sleep too deep,
Alas was once the darkness invited to seep.

Cries of a Banshee

Lest her gaze gone made more for fire,
Her eyes glowing before the bitter sea,
The angst felt can be felt all around,
An entire Earth that shatters before her,
Anger so fast, so intense could never fall,
All fairness lost and all virtue a history,
Across the sea a banshee stood at watch.

And in the night she walks along the coast,
And as moon her witness can only hide,
Whose once pale skin now would rot so slow,
An entire foundation of her grew and spored,
Fallen was her resolve to reason and seek,
Nor sought, nor fought, but now she resolves:
Haunting, she’s the banshee from the dark.

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Mine Ester Brewed

Who could not foresee but light so grown,
Indeed had given more this better morn,
And just as I thought the sun would rise,
The eves of light had slowly wrung to size,
Or not so shall I spell the end I yonder bore,
Nor brought to hue these silent steps before,
Whence would rise from ash and declare me man,
Whose bitter taste and spoilt soil dare to fan,
His heart as fought as he would never entail,
Mine art so fair and dear could never wail.
But if I would, my life can never be done,
So that I say there’s my life more than sung. Read More