I’m done

Ere no word of mention: I’m done,
All the words I said are all but gone,
And he said that I was all in awe,
I’m done. It was all for much this sore,
For heaven blind me this creased man,
So sing me tears from molten glass, an
Insight of this love once I foretold,
The months and years have my heart in fold,
So do what you must, and so leave me,
So give me nought, and now I am to be,
Is this it? Am I half the man I swore?
To disembark myself from skin I wore,
Now kill me here and all I am to sing,
So hearken my call; this love a fling,
‘Tis all but marred in mute task alight,
And won’t give life wanted without fight,
A shadow of angels now curses my own god,
And this god is the man of the inner dog.
Now I am whole again, I shall be better,
But when I see you again, I’ll think better,
Enough. All dreams I had with you. Enough.
It’s over now, and I have said how tough;
So muse me with silence, and all shall fade,
Close mine eyes; I’m done, and adieu I bade.

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*

At the casting dawn, no star no bright,
Did see it through the turmoil peaked,
In pleasure fought but pain embraced,
Sleepless brought, no mind would cease,
In the brink of hollow, so much as horror,
Did see the light, these paths unchained,
Who moves with wheezing gasp to shed,
Now saw himself between shadow and shade,
In lidless hue the breath he can’t deny,
So soon he bode in wreaths come align,
The chest so red and lips so swollen,
With changed voice from tongue to swell,
And ere brought from here to deepened downs,
Nor south may make south heaven again,
Did cease to be, and all was slammed indeed,
Now he returned and himself brought asunder,
How yea lifeless and soon he walked away,
So once he returns now warns himself this peril,
This musing night, so life do your worst,
He’ll walk again and muster rain and heat,
So he shall rise again with no relent to pass,
This hour is the hour he is. Oh yes;
Nothing will make him stand at bay,
At the birth of light, his life stood anew.

Directions

To the crossroads they went and saw,
Ghosts prepared meal from dry bones
And waited in spores and riches held,
A moon gazed in light; all light so rich,
Anew were the footsteps in echoes brought,
This brew of soup is last I from yond try,
Nor beg the moving roads in sand to pass,
Nor check the hooves of dead horse trodden,
More sake in bitter feel in chastised hope,
A pen I ought to try but no hand to take,
A pillar amidst the orbit of all life between,
A figure bows, more figures arose to sky,
The ladder I build for grace I weep to sigh,
A lingering cast is brought in me and life,
And all is wake in whose life I ought to take,
If not for mine, but for thine; let it be mine,
All rebirth I am shall be turf in kindled bake,
Whose road I ought to take, nor left, nor right?
No way forward, but we’re kept in mind’s jail,
So kneel me before the light and see me frail,
Oh, decades past; my hair so grey I am sorry,
I should have went, but could not have went.
Forgive my delay, I could not decide where,
Pity me for being the man who could not walk,
So pity all I am and rain me an ocean to fall,
Aghast the breech of hope is dainty glow reborn,
I shall try as an ant in utmost order prevail,
The blackest of which in blackest of all night,
Behind the blackest stone, atop the black marble,
Whose sounds unheard by those I once I was,
But He knows. But He knows what ought I am.

*

I speak will of night, so ill of day,
Is all I know, lest thorn be known,
More drums I dull lest heart be drum,
In muse I wake, this cry I fake,
The meagre weep is lasting sleep,
Who knew this breeze lest rain to freeze
Till morning drew this life be brew,
From which I drink, from which to brink,
No dawn in sight, no man to fight,
No more is tried now branch is tied,
These hours be gone is come goodbye.

Answer

And the answer clear,
And the answer dear,
Could n’erupt from here,
All dreams come to fear,
Questions come to leer,
As though nothing to be,
All song in write me
Cash not on chilled feel,
The way was now closed,
His heart he then froze
Can warm now once more,
And the heart longs more,
Ere the blood pumped soar,
Whose tears can scarce bore,
This skin is yet so sore,
Shall then pour away,
All dark thoughts at bay,
Now this essence is calm,
Sooth me better balm,
Wash all that gall way,
It is now to lay.

Of Follies in a Single Moment

All the world’s a meagre chase, nor bred are the hundreds gooned for base. And the art of folly so vivid and few can never in arms twice be fed. Nor like the saddles of knowledge whose lives attached are bequeathed upon me this solemn night, the artist wept in cool blood pray. Alas! My honed wretched state of no becoming thwart but sulked to stay. Nor was I the wiser none in keeping state that larks in space and bitter stone this fire come path. These people I ought to know can never give ought what I am; it is in my knowing that they are past. Oh, my life for their knowledge! Who am I to kiss the rock whose life forefeit in great disdain? Am I the curtain to kiss and scorn? Am I the jest to bleed and scorn? They are the virgins of ill got so torn. I am the nightingale of ill suborn; whose loneliness in song is gall so thorn. Are we then the sinners or liars of jokers born? Why don’t mine eyes roll to their nerves to tear? Am I this much a boy for man so ill? Can I not listen to gut in shape to throw? Nor am I this sight in keep’st shred. Nor all echoes are tales be known. No beer nor wine, no coke nor weed can shape me here. This abstract fellow too soft to be fluid; this concrete I lay are beds of chains I cast to stay. Nor better are the stars whose black spots can me shine a light to bring closer at the yolk of night when all lights perish into mine eyes in kindred sleep.

Broken Tree

With new hour come an old hour fall,
In least of which was tree yea tall,
Ere he stood all his nil was struck,
Ere he stood all his joy was sucked,
For what seemed an hour then he stood,
For sought was sentiment in brood;
And all time compressed to a drop,
Whilst all mem’ry pressed to a sop,
With every tender touch comes warmth,
With every tender thought is morph,
Which how soon is but ill despised
At how the next years are come surprised,
Nor better are fools with hope at stake,
Now gleams in tide this Earth to take,
Had he not walked this far to go
Then roads yond can n’er come so low,
This ought be the hour life partakes
Though few have stopped better to take.