Bid pleasing tales of hope and glory,
Brought by pages sung by canaries flying,
A sweetest word borne of bitter story,
Yet one could remember its feeling,
And so spell it forshook erst in part,
These are the footsteps of grass, snow;
Of rocks and shores. The simple heart,
Who goes where, where none go near,
Whose darkness sullied comes better fear,
Even whilst her conscience bids her here,
It is still her heart turning her gear,
Simply for the knowledge, it is passion;
She tests and wrests her flag on this island,
Though tempered shook can no moon undo;
Thunder strikes each maid lost how sessioned,
It is what mud itself can make flowers stew,
Though spell I name this kindred spell,
As though from nothing came pun as much,
How glory so pleasing of hope and tell,
That keeps such ladies going hundred much!
Indeed, I scorn the principled art desire,
So leavened my love be picked on hearth desire,
Each pluck and tear gives me more desire,
If it were love, I'd say it's moreso just desire!
Little I knew that sun be torn,
Proved little of me than light within,
That it has brought me stars to learn,
A smile to know, the light is breathing;
Each drop of my food, soup and bread,
Be it the finest stew with meat be served,
With wine I shall be whole lest misled,
This much I fathom tell, this night deserved.
A muse would come at my window now,
No pun intended, this much I ere assure:
Each star but a sun once I torn (it is now),
So my cheapish words convince resure,
Drink of the youth spent and cursed here,
That sun torn became that youth divine,
If ever you proved little of light so near,
Let's sit and speak of misses now to sign.
How charming words can ill regress!
If one could bite words off pages found,
Let it be those most ill they digress!
Yet could not tear 'love' from pages bound,
Still they argue amongst themselves a flaw;
Grief is set, the stage poured glass empty,
Each step come words poignant sharp he bore,
More is glass filled by gall juiced ill-contempt,
Taste me more! the blade creases flesh fourfold,
Yet in writing these give rise to designs anew,
Ones that are nothing but rises hardly bold!
Yet 'tis love, indeed; though I cannot renew,
By sea apart, no land departs, the sounds dispel,
Each step escaped, as they'd hammer strings,
Like naive cats playing then descend to pedal,
How fast they all run! All the keys a stair brings,
So leap once, now twice, but pause a second!
My heart is breaking, my member soring;
The grueling blood mingled in fluid beckoned,
Then he turned and paused, arpeggio fraught,
Now I am silenced, now I am the silence brought,
If there be any word from ye, a week now be ought,
Whence sorrows bring, charms sped is sought,
Though linger, hither and thither, each descend,
How beautiful the feel! So sour yet sweet a drink,
What is it then, how tastes ye mere raw limes?
Whilst with salt it is indeed less bitter ye drink!
It matters not; he walked away in bitter times.
Like a leaf I am, wind and rain come:
Damn it! The hell that ye come near,
When green alone is all I sing and write,
Now crease this leaf I trickle ooze,
Grief is it, my friends doth say, those leaves;
The age is gone from haraam ere be halal,
Wrung round my stem, its roots now descend,
With such bulbs as tightly round as sting,
Could not fathom such dirt ere more is come,
Then I say I am still a leaf, alone and attached,
When this dead plant falls: there am I sought,
Fromwith all I beget now strikes chords beau,
Though I fear such chords me forgets now few
Till one would not view me leaf as much I am,
Then tend me not, nor catch mine eye, nor vein;
It is fraught then, I am left, then plucked and held,
When each is brought, I am neither here and there,
But in essence brought is my existence ere laid
Aghast the foul stench my decaying green sought,
Thus becomes the green most relying bought.
I know this because I am bought and sold,
Then they smoke me. Then I am whole..
So speak its name, the angel's due;
Shake a brow so tender mused at all,
How brought this ruin upon my fort,
Strong and stable, as all mottos go,
As all stone be mossed and turned,
Could never bring a stone unturned,
And that stone I am, as shalt exposed,
Each patter of rain and whiff of snow,
Ere swathe of heat, ere brux of cold,
So hence me here, as dessert's scorn!
Equip me with sharpest pins cactus tall,
I shall prick every man, wife and child,
Till no more shall wrest their thoughts,
Even when all others are past and gone,
This plant withers not, yet stands yea tall!
How now, angel, speak its name?
Shall shake ye a brow now splintered sharp?
Every hair and and every finest be drugged,
In each they prick my screams sound alarm,
Though in pleasure here, I am sobre man,
So speak sobr'ing words on whose account
That none approach but yea fair reproach,
As all lights depart, all the Moon at glare,
This single man walks, even larger departs;
And when none's so wild, this much am wild,
Who tears apart for none would see,
If beauty be scorn of past,
Let future be poison last.
When next you see sky night,
See black by miles covetted,
Those bold iris' beau behold you,
Then Earth becomes but a bright dust,
Enjoined by a sea of light, falling within,
Flux. As sobering tale would crease,
Clad in those robes She observes night,
In her, night is the default light;
From such a fold, any moment and idea is light.
Each iris reflects one world, ere another refracts.
So, now I ask: what ideas have you this night?
I started as nothing, then became something,
There was no past I am, nor history I was,
When I am open, that is when one shall read,
I fulfil no purpose, no joy, no reward,
I provide only instruments: my word,
Except as much as the pen permits,
Except as much as interest and eyes permit,
'Tis naught to begin and then naught to end.
When I finally close, the lights are off,
And when morn awakes, I become part of the whole,
For years I'm left, not knowing yond my words,
I remember only my date of publish,
I remember only the pages made me whole,
It was neither the word, nor the ink aside.
So when I am opened again, it was her grandchild.
Aye, I speak of that single leaf,
My ideas run few and wild,
But it was just this leaf I saw,
Lingering, in the midst of bloom.
'Twas neither dark, nor light in day,
Nor was I seeing bark fight the day,
Withering through the wind was That,
Falling from its host was just That;
Nor resisting, nor falling, but moving,
Beneath the green I saw a world in view,
Those veins carrying its essence flowed,
Then I looked beyond the veins and thought,
"There's a universe, a world, a single state."
What I saw in our world today, compares not;
In all its chaos of tree decayed, could not fathom,
This leaf still fell, and was not resisting the wind.
Nor was it telling of fair asunder,
Nor grew tired till ground it touched,
Not drew the sighs once it was.
It was the wind carrying this leaf away,
It was the leaf that took the trees away.
From high above the hives of bees,
To this was new home on ground anew,
Nor sang was it that wind hoisted blew,
True was it, that I should witness one;
Not all, but simply stood idle and captive,
That I sing both free and captive of all things,
Nor could I help but watch it fall to ground,
That I may think a bit, the state of all,
How naive I was that all could not fall!
I am neither smart, nor wise;
The maths on paper slip through
Like lives creased by seeping vice,
And then my art is less than few,
Yet, my children run so freely,
I look beyond but I see no thought,
Like rabbits they roam free in haste,
Surviving, oui, but these graced lot
Fathom not my words so faint and still,
They chew their gums readily a lot,
Yet know not what come to teeth so ill!
But having lived, and knowing fausses dents,
These are the times I sacrifice one last try,
And I sit down with my children in tents
A doughnut with the finest pie.
These are the smiles I live ere I die!
The chalice I hold, the cup of joy implant!
Nor the seeking joys of old long deny,
For I have breathed death and exhaled want.