Aeneid’s Passing

Alas this moon knew no dark,
Where lay eclipsed my wrong,
Now no light can hide my ark.
Now, a breath still as light,
So give torch ne give as such,
What words pass on falser right,
That appoint my brief yond march,
O Muses that calm my heart away:
Give me reprieve that I stay away,
That all I live shall turn away,
For all I say may echo all away.
Though life subtle gives nay,
And so I walk the walk I deigned,
In hair by strand greys by day,
But whose day is wrought if feigned?
Allay this doom fates doom this allay!
Come; a branch no leaves shall part,
Ne ate nor drink neither brew nor naught,
Now noon is naught of night as art,
But mine walk through pillar ye ought,
And all who grieve my pass, oh solemn,
Now cheat my heart, of Hers, I beseech,
Where is she? I give word for contemn,
A whisper then is the soothing speech,
Deliver words if not by eyes nor waned,
That ghost alone carries my free thought,
Aghast is mine ay this mind so caned,
Is spoke and ere I see her to my ought
Shall I pass over Elysium for pride deny,
I am the Prince of all Sin to declare,
No gentleman is I who sees whom I can lie,
In whose throne as still no way is lair
Now all is still, all so silent,
All ghosts am I, now I’m me no more!
Nor shall He, Jupiter, my sword for rent!
But all I am, unforgiven is me no more.


Born in the arms of nothing,
Foots a way that yond dismay,
I’m a kissing feeling known,
But no, not right these days;
Am paralysed by words of word,
Now I’m walking away to yond,
The tank can’t hold more brew,
Now the water this warm is hue:
A rain that I may soak and bathe,
Ere smoked is the air this mute,
Now shook my feet for quake aghast,
Who drags me down so all roads a cliff?
But I know not mine eyes wander,
When I look to the singing naught,
And all I see is yond be ought,
If I would eat till I breathe less,
Till I drink so I eat much less,
Till I eat much less since I lived,
Now cool is the air that speaks,
How true is the still life so beau?
Whilst I look round, here we are;
In the mesh of half myself and dawn,
When it comes another day, am I gone?
Nay, tis mine half who walks here,
The nothing that I am breathes here,
All along, and now he walks to You.

Without Face

Ere comes a time neither right nor left
Neither forward nor back, half-wit shape,
Whether pale nor blue, in barks a spree,
Now turn a neck her breath wouldn’t chase,
So laid in wake till morn sun may repel,
These single takings, a mistake long fought,
Could not see past her faults and admit them,
Nor could she write her feels and thoughts,
Nor could she read the message always bound,
But death awakened her from a flight with hell
And drooped so far with debt, a failed love, etc;
So too did it come she needed escape but to where?
If it weren’t the bar, it would certainly be through,
What worse prison than those whose mind imprison?
What better way to live than deny all chance to see?
And could I be wrong, if a bird would not fly, then die!
My lady, having forsook warns and mistook an error,
Now see for it begun a search for promise in erred ways,
Now cast a leap whose still horse is but one you take,
At most forsake all such neuroses and awaken here,
So guide a light and never resist the words yond made,
For there too remains life in ink I withwrit and bleed,
Whomsoever calls that patronise, then I am a patron.
These gates would not close, the bar is rust and spoilt,
An air is thick with thoughts, open a window. Release.
So this much I say would not reach stubborn head,
May it be as may, nor callous how much I said,
Nor turned a key, this much I too am shamed,
Now feel a pulse, my heart too is wrought,
Hers be the fainted thought, alas is new,
Years are fought with seconds these days;
The tree would not sink by my hands alone,
So that poor I shall witness all forsook,
Then beam a mirror at who you are
When times alone between us past
Are but simple shades in lighted hue,
Whose shadow I am come shadow ye fought,
Whence no one there can help us now,
Till morning drew, your escape is nigh.

A cup of Styx

What sorely did cry from below,
Shall all a cup be sunk by a stream,
Shall all a tear itself in cup refill
Whist a hand descend nor fill entail,
Shall it then, Athena, my muses sunk,
Now walk through a bay in sound reveal,
Marred by respite an essence owned,
But dared walk through his stream alone,
So cast a memory upon me, my brother away,
Nor memory aside and fates are born a thread,
I breathe a fume of acid to conjure deep,
A dark and nasty thought I listen here,
A scream I seep through malattempt in jest,
Now once in bigger hope I’m fraught for die,
So then he lies at a stream I’ll find away,
So once I carry my life through all fates
Entwined; each tear is a gap in land nor sea.
His difference part from me, his life ill-spent,
And mine through Styx is hellish glory steamed,
Now die twice ere once more reborn, but whisper
Clear are the waters, and subtle are shades,
Then I reach land from his, so am I dead then?
If I am, so then all living are dead to ghosts!
Now he beckons me back, I could not for I am dead,
But choosing life, I leave behind a past in here:
These tears, and blood-let stain my gold depart,
Styx an overfilled wine, with sweet and bitter taste,
This is ought I give, then keep my brother there,
So that I rise and he shall be nominal to degree,
Whilst I look back and this much I am here to see.