Rights of Mad

Noon dispel the grueling fear,
Moon despair an hour this night,
Gone are the trees I chopped away,
Bound are the hands taken from me,
Long are the feet held to hang,
And all the world is upside down,
Yes, upside down, yes, yes, down,
So give me blood for I am palish,
Now impale on the cross I live,
How much I hate the rays of sun
Before the cross can send me here.
So this bird is thinking away, Read More

Her Meaning

But I say not, but then I mean so,
Words I could never dare describe,
Mine heart with sorrow gone too late,
With drooping eyes with tears of glass
Could never tear through silken thread,
Nor the lonely steed to pass me by,
In lonely mountain waste I am spent.
These arts of utter grief lay barren,
Th’ease of woe in loss came so soon, Read More

On Approach

They approached me and wanted to know,
But whether ignoring or not, it was no,
Nights will pass and all hope would fade,
To ask myself why I could not have bade,
In still and silence mourn passing time,
This soothing night of mine was time,
How then I turned from sweetest to bitter,
My words rampaged before them like litter,
And they would move away; the brave fellow
Who could not forgive dampened hearts so mellow,
Had suddenly washed away this turning light,
My faults as now for paralysis sought tonight, Read More

My Dear

And all ye who come and stay,
The muse that parts at bay,
This lint of cloth away
Could never pour my heart away,
In an ocean of tears I obey,
This lasting word I come to say: Read More

Leave the Past

Ah, the sweet, smooth and sound past,
Like wine uncorked and drunk so fast,
With sweeter chimes of happier notes,
With bitter blots for known undertones,
Can only suffice the effect one sitting,
This drink of my past is mere bloodletting,
Leave it. Leave it. Go away. The past. Go.
The wine. The bottle. The glass. Throw.
Every drop of wine becomes blood vanquished,
I sit here and dream of past relinquished,
The beast within is the angel above,
The demon is the answer to my resolve,
Give me more, the past I need it more,
However I drink it, let me be so sore, Read More

Footing Recovered

I was with a friend towards the metro,
Everyone was busy. It was a crazy strife.
Sounds heard were then sounds retro.
Everything was a blur. Including life.

Not far from the platform I saw a man.
He walked. He slumped. He tripped. He fell.
For shock I would go, but for him I ran.
In such a state he was. No words could tell.

I still hear his panting. I echo them now.
His eyes full of glare and ever more tired,
This grief was more than reason could allow,
And there I was knelt beside thus enquired: Read More

A Guy named James

In a sea of words is there no greater storm than deception. The art of making is for fertile cause; to imbue words so more words grow aloud. The pacemaker of a sentence is the sum of all words plus the thought and feel made to cause it. James thought this once, he thought “how could I, a human lost, so lost I could not hear myself but dare find the words to tell myself how I feel?” This much he thought, and he drank and smoked weed to all the kings glory. This glory raised. This glory lost. A caterpillar could do better. I saw him last week. He was a bit frail, but oh well; it seemed he wanted to be alone. I thought he was just intimate with his shadow. A kind shadow, who wanted to become more than just a shadow. Indeed, the butterfly always existed with that caterpillar; it just hasn’t morphed into one yet. Conversely, a man is just two parts of one soul. One soul believes in God; the other is the God himself. Read More