How Happy the gleams

Whence light ought to drop as snow
Increase, will you? Muse us with more,
My soul yea fierce, parting by the low;
How easy is pain whilst turkey tore?

So sweet are the ripe and tender flesh,
So bitter yet sweet a cranberry top,
Give all, or more I seek how fresh,
One I eat, one I drink and one I pop.

I’ll stir a bird in homeless creed,
So please my wine with sombre words
Of the cold, the immoral in whom heed
A pleasant word from those cynical turds!

I grow tiresome of this crowd of infidels,
The people; the jokers of my existence,
Such laughter, such folk are hardly revels,
So take me, give a Devil to take me hence!

I seek a dance with dark moss on a field,
So empty. So foggy. Give Chestershire mine,
In minds alike shades walk and yield,
Shall thwart and ere they snort a line

May transport themselves from here escape,
How easy it is for this happy thought surface,
Now mind this eased shall be more than ape,
Till grief alone is my sorrow happy base,

And this we feel through our faux blood,
I take it as much I tasted my forbearance,
As much I have given it as much I know my rod,
All joys are swept, now all is but nuance.

*

And a sound as far the hairs can sense,
Did give leave for widened eyes deceive,
Who would know then this joke recompense?
This lie I call my pursuit of ought receive,

Only to realise a path whose rocks swept
Through the banishing fog of utmost vine,
Towers before me; if not so God is left,
Now there’s a story I tell, when we run,

To no end at all: a breath and eyes move,
To no end at all, clearance at fog’s depart,
To no end at all; his pain is mine to soothe,
To no end at all. Then I said be all but ought.

*

Within a mountain blue poured below,
A trickle of snow rolls from hence,
Breaths of ice form at base yea low,
He did not see himself at all then.
Like clockwork, each gear at work,
Care naught for same sans its move,
What shall we spell? His feet went.
Then his hands. Then his head.
Didn’t care much about an avalanche,
What better disaster than his gain?
“So, I’m before a lonely hill,
There’s not much here. I’ll follow.”
Working away and soon he’ll live away,
Now there’s a cause for freedom!
This danger does not become him,
This fear he knows yet he resists,
So walk, nay climb, up this snow:
Look down. See your past down there?
How shrunk you were, swallowed by snow.

Places

Neither Oxford nor Webster shall refine
At ease but droll a sight as this:
Who would move and who would go?
I’m walking away, and I belong nowhere,
All the days and then the years pass,
From here, to there, patience sunk,
From nowhere, to everywhere I go.
So call me the fleeting bird departing,
So pronounce a new name, call me fleeting.
Nay, I am a wanderer. Wandering, walking;
Like wine, like K, give me all. Bit of it.
I shall snoop down my mind and crawl forth.
These webs, each thread is now a track,
Shoot each train my way. Nor yes nor no:
Say, will you travel again by my side?
No, you say? Very well. I’ll forget it all.
All the friends, the “family” – Gone.
These contacts? My Number? Gone.
Memories? Souvenirs? Gone.
A heart breaking? Never mind.
Neither land nor sea can change my sails.
I will blow the waves till no land is near,
Till all I fraught with little to no gain,
At which point, my existing is my land.
I’ll set foot at a new life, and new me.
All I had, so be it I am thus fleeting;
Then you’ll call a shrink my way here,
But my dear, I am nowhere here to be near;
From childhood I’ve been crept on and shut,
Imprisoned and sore were mine eyes at this,
So I devised a new plan to leave. Leave.
It seemed so amazing. I cried so happy-sad,
Now all I drank became that which I am,
A part of me, and I become the city,
So give me new, this much I am who as:
The sum of everything else. I see now,
There’s a trinkle of life by the sea,
But land is not enough. Nor people.
Just a travel. I’ll be French on one day,
Then German; then Italian, then Russian,
Oh, it’s a case of learning. But I’ll get.
Years later, I am still trembling with this,
I want you, but I cannot have you.
This land, this ocean speaks my name.
So whisper again. Now the light is soon,
I’ll be a lasting halo at twilight call,
When sun is set, then breathes so slow.