Moving Out

Ere but all the times to know,
“A drink? It’s boss. I’m fine.
There’s no need. I’ll go.”
It was not the drink of wine,

Nor the sound of fear in sleep,
It was a sign to make a snare,
How now ere the sirens weep?
“I have to go back and tell her.”

So she thought. It was the time.
“Expecting myself to cry and break.”
There’s no need, no sour words as lime
Can dissolve your soul and soothe your ache,

And if I – “Already, I am breaking here…”
No; every Phoenix rises from ash to win.
“I’m soon there.” Text me when you’re there.
As I write, a jailbreak is about to begin.

She’s about to make all words said to count,
All the while ‘I love yous’ we engraved,
A final note would suffice before we mount,
A simple thought that you’re now saved.

I have got us a home, not the best, but do,
You showed me the way, now the keys and rent,
And ere the battle is fought she ought to
Fight with both mum and womb she had lent,

Though cords be tight and chains must break,
It be ought in this most vulnerable pose
That her life truly embodies her past forsake.
“I’m moving out. Well I have to, I suppose.”

“Because I love her and I want to be with her.”
Tears as rain not even this Storm can muster,
These hours so long and few aren’t fair:
A storm out there, and a storm sought to cluster.

“I’m out. This month I’m leaving and that’s that.”
She told her. It was all done and she’s affected.
How afraid she was! What a dear heart to pat,
But now she’s broken free she thus reflected:

“In all my life I’ve learnt patience, foresight,
And to give those I love the exposure to flourish;
But here, I have all I ought to give others right,
But in me I have but none to give myself to nourish.

In these times it is yet so easy and so free
To objectify our greatest qualities in world adorn
But to apply all this in me is not so easy,
It’s another story as tearing a poetry is born.”

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Ghost ye Lady Part

Mine hour is but laugh to sing,
In cast of my deforme’d nature
Is this happy hour am come to fling,
In the clothes in white; how mature,
Is part of me; all and whole but a pun,
A spectre of lust I seek and now I am,
It is the echo of what I yearn so fun,
The misery of failure is success I am,
All round the woods in these greater days,
Near that familiar junction by the road,
How happier are the lakes so ripple away,
Now seek my ghost and guide mud my load,
All the words I seek myself in cumber free,
And I walk the art of silence in great dismay,
It was the feet that drove me away from ye
Who could never hold mine arse this bay,
A puddle I sight, the pleasure but fauna
A sight in lieu and all puerile ill attempt,
Very, and so bitter are lips my words donna
Can never rip from heart nor give to tempt,
All I kept to consume and this my birth,
Born to weep my bred heart in leapt mourn,
Now all is dark whilst I walk through girth,
As all motion sewn between us is bitter scorn.

Muse of Dodona

I am the Muse who sings not of no other,
I am the difference between light and night:
The art of spelt wind to carve my bark,
An empire of leaves thus adorn my shape,
A whisper through the grass sings me wake,
Steps of travellers dance to my trembling,
Nor it be not music mine ears to breath of yours,
Nor is it shaking lest my lonely state is bore.
I am the smoke; the one that is lifted from naught,
‘Tis the burning of the seen that now is more fraught,
Make no mistake that my smould’ring choke you here,
Make no mistake that it is the end of my heroic end,
Ere the birds shall sing their last and leave me here,
Now the ashes fall from me to ground in utmost pour,
And tears of amber shall lift my roots in motion soar,
At last it becomes me not the endless to bitter end,
When once I ask of ye: why so this I ought to rend?
Then twice more you respond with fine eyes cast away,
To the next; ere the next, here perplexed; all is hexed,
Nor is fixed, the air is thick, my tree a wick,
And knick my space, and kick my face, so all is waste!
Uproot myself, in muse I call, so here I fall,
When more I try, so luck I find, is rare behind,
And soon I cry, ere ground I bind, so fair and kind.
Though he and love these guests I cannot plea,
Nor my slow’st motion, stoic notion I cannot flee,
Here I sing of what love I once had from pot to soil,
Who saw me grow and visited me here to never foil,
To he, I was but just a tree with no love to give,
For I perish with no leaves to offer so he can live
In knowing my presence. Oh, but now no more to seep,
And as he leaves, it is for all but mine to weep.

His Lover Beckons

Ere be man ere wrought is comber may,
Alas, indeed, is but fraught with greed desire,
Though twats in meagre thing can in bliss dire
Need sunder the flesh and blood and eyes fooled;
Is but a need for this couple to become cooled,
Oh, these lovers so cast aside by deception
Can soon become the greatest need for seduction,
She says “No, I cannot let you do this”, alas, alas;
But in all wildness, all reason escaped, morals last;
Now, and now, and now, she is but a weeping angel,
An angel she sought and thus her lost wings fell,
Weeping, deceit; but mirror held them both,
But alas, a mirror, a mirror cast love’s broth.
No suitor ere suited can this man ere be made,
Lest love in clothed silk and ooze be laid.
In the midst of danger came pleasure only,
If it were pain, it can be but fraud cunningly.
There these swingers are treating to vice,
It is but the nude lady in reflection mirror’s stood,
How gay are all who stood in wake of sight so lewd,
Now the vain pleasures are but pains to fuck,
And ere but snares be cast for dice in luck,
And but sought eyes in constipated looks decree:
Now no perfume nor cologne nor minted tooth
Shall free her soul from despair and pleasure,
It is indeed a lustrous life of weekends sure.
No quartet can sing in thrusts so deep as this
Without forbidding themselves to secrecy how bliss.

*

Monsieur, alors les chattes de lune;
Jusqu’a avons engrang√© ne plumes de malheur,
There shall be no peace in mine so soon,
Nor shall be happiness shall this deter,
The art of such flight I bid you adieu,
Now I give sight my lacking purpose here,
I am but a slave to fate and nights tonight,
So that I sleep away the thoughts I sear,
Then never can I come to you so right,
Then leave me here so bitter I ought stay,
Now never see my name through cold glass,
So when I stand beneath the core to lay
Can I not spell your name in fire to pass?
So walk me home and I shall set you far,
The indigneous tribe in mind untoward
Has arrested my mind from you to bar
That I can never see you much forward.

Moving Faster

For it was not the leaves who asked faster,
No. They joked with time in little passing,
Did I ask for my life to be taken away?
Should I give myself to time for better life?
Let God decide where my road falls short to fall,
So never find me weeping in a mess to know,
The art is gastric so my stomach shall implode to sink,
The mink I wore is now simple and plain. As am I.
>Now I see my clones walking around, dancing like bots;
Now, they’re the real me. I am a shade of code to compile,
If not my soul, then least my logic shall least decompile,
Nor never have I sung the words divine, in heavens soon
So divine. But I lack the love to hurt me more to live,
For I never sought the one to challenge me lest I the same,
Now give me grief I had no adventure to survive,
If I were dead now, I will be awoken now to danger revive.

Say the Words

Cracked window on the eastern wall,
Stones that never fell from sky,
Rain that hardly poured to ground,
Wind that whispered my name to you,
The ink that spilt through the wall,
The name that grafted into your phone,
Messages left are but memories bereft,
The fingers that tapped away to no call,
The days that became the months to come,
The months that became hours of mourning,
The hours of tears with days of sleep,
Our hearts to break, but in shame silent; Read More