I admit I was not as perfect as you,
I admit the God who moulded me man
Who could not for life to spare
In a single touch my flesh to give,
Could never my fragile mind to give;
In deepest hour, in sounding sleep,
I had to die twice to live with you,
Must I grab hold of the noose to hold;
For these ropes are not mine own;
Here, the strings that pass me by,
The spider that webs its life unto me,
Can never poison my poisoned life, Read More
Then God plants the forbidden tree,
And thus lays bare the fruit that be,
Dares all but none to eat from this,
Lest foul His foe does froward hiss.
At moon hours His folk come at bay,
Spite erst word had not sought to stay,
When arrive their urge to desist,
So too did they cease to exist.
A cool summer’s eve drew sun in evening glory. At a distant fold knew better light where breeze and sound combined would mute the nature between them. Within that nature, with sounds of walking footsteps through trail of wood and mud, there was I and a friend going through it all. Recounting the steps to this unknown part I could not call home nor haven. It was but a guest in nature’s woods. Watching through the glistening water from premature rain to cover the leaves with tears that drooping their eaves cast light into our eyes. These shady leaves in number grew had only our shadow they knew; more they found our steps to folly they surround us. Where one of us would attempt a log to pass through, another would walk around. I was the former. Read More
Honour that he lost shall thus be gained,
Ere halt his steed shall rise again,
Whispers of hallowed name are spelt,
Swords now drawn thy foes now dealt,
More null than keep in heaven’s weep,
Ere much he says in less words to keep,
Yearlings too mute to speak word for fear
Our survivor in the yolk must stand so near.
Hours now the breaths you long to take,
Still keep in meagre sight lest art so fake
Shall time thy heart for actions all too well,
Lest thine heart in action is wrought to swell,
Move the moon from noon ere moon is boon,
Motion for new ways can never be so soon,
Onward now for honour’s pass in bitter waste,
Never return unless war has been your taste.
In spite of this I come so near,
In meagre ways I am all to fear,
Mine honour so wry can wrung so high,
Though listen with care my words to fly;
For I am no God here nor there to spire,
Nor am I the Christian nor Muslim aspire,
If not my angst but my sin becomes human,
If not so human then more am I to conman,
Now beseech me here that I cannot spell,
This art I form with religion ought he fell,
So when my God arrives to take this God from me
So shall I know from Him that God in thee
Was ought but gone from hence to far,
Nor my hands so warm all heart to bar,
I am not the God you pray I am to be;
I am the mortal who built the church to be,
Now let me rest for a poor old man is nought,
If you believe me now, then my task is brought.
Oh, oh, our Earth is in little known space,
The lesser of two evils within blue and land,
ALAS, the night so grown is but bitter,
Glory of Earth is our darling of the Sun,
This muse who says there’s no number on Earth,
A little song I can with battle in haste by word,
Delight in sombre, in coldness, in darkness, he came,
The avofaunal triumphs shall together away but fade.
The humans; he and she, shall banish all hate and love,
All hate and love indeed giv’n, giv’n in more the air,
You, whom we shall name as sum of pains and pleasures known.
Withstood are honours and passions through this we ere
Say are but music for challenges known are better grown,
Till all things known are slowly piled into utmost calm.
To vanish from eye of foreign vessel or mutual fair,
Given my faith to thee, shall serve and better part.
In ways that I cannot offend,
Give me leave lest I ought defend,
The voice of this pet ought you take,
More line her drawings new come to bake,
Least of which my heart nought to take,
For which my whispers come hard to fake,
As clouds descend mine ire so few,
This breathing shard that sounds anew
Come soon in lieu the art ought be known,
How this pet smiles and this ne be thrown,
Trickle tears here, man, this ought you have,
For this hound to be thy counsel ought to have,
How beautiful is it the love she has for you, Read More
