Listen the words sweet and sober, All is lingering ere tales veil her, In coolest springs is joy beheld, Laid by courses streaming held, At last brought before a city woven Hot in breezes sound as ought be open, Added to the mix was strength and mute: It could have been like jestered lute, Longing be heard, if not for rain, And when the grief comes forth, Little by little it dissolves as dearth. Life itself could spell the name well, Angst, and sorrow, brewed to swell, How now I live, so beautiful, so good?
The height of it all strong,
Like the nets grabs of fish,
These were no fish but water,
Each plankton scorned at sun,
Now each string of net plucked,
Each note grew loud, reeled in;
I sung the notes they sung behind,
Then they dragged me down,
At the ocean bed, departed here;
Relish my living name. Along, Above.
I was scared of my shell, I saw it new.
These are the words God bestowed.
They were yours, but now they're God's.
We walk through the shores like nothing,
To tell the stories like they were legend,
When two climbed Everest, frozen in love,
Each drop of icy tears became my wine,
When each glass dropped, so too did rain;
And when each wood stained and soaked,
I cracked the floor with flurry of anger,
And when I crouched, I saw light again,
When I looked beyoned the light,
I could only see within. The fall was harsh,
But no dates nor figs could satisfy;
The freedom was there, but I soiled it.
These are the times, they were my days.
Relish my gold, succumb its age glory new, Like sponge, sink through this giving light, I spelt my name in gold now walking away, Each letter then sold an image upon return, With each I counted the days and the hours, Then I counted each hair that held to my skin, With each light glowed, so too did my hair, But when I spelt my name again, I lost all. These are the travels that hiked my way, And never did lose my sight of clearer breeze Lest such a chill would pain my chest, Though each climb did hurt a while, Each step travelled was a new name revealed, So when I looked back from mound I stood I saw the leaves formed from all my hairs.
Nor did it matter what it was,
An act yea cruel; a song yea new,
How soon this cloud of shapen glass,
Deformed, with sharpened edges black,
Whose blood would not in ern’st congeal,
Now fools the fool no sunken spell deny,
A breath of light so wretched is tolled away,
So cast thy shadow on shadow mine,
Let thine erring words colour me here,
Such that none would never be near,
That as I am till morn is broke and far,
The sun’s glory that could never reveal
Its cheapish glow with too little so dark
Yet so bright no dark is ill,
O Happy, yea free! Is this the glory ought,
That my forebears through warsong sought,
Did curse their youth this daring task,
Whilst they in soil or ash be heard,
Till even path is made is theirs unmade?
Ere my future is then my past unheard,
Let my present day swell like they did,
Though a cave I stand in here and pace,
With breaths so little to take: breathe.
Now heard are the trees whispering,
Now heard are the birds chirpering,
Through no fault at all, their day is whole;
Through no fault at all, our day is whole.
Through no fault at all, this day is new.
At once a queen was laid atop a king,
Placed so far down the sheets would crawl,
And interrupted he, playing away;
So speak his friend, “when do you finish?”
Thence a jack was laid, beneath his queen;
“Not yet; still there’s more to come.”
And bruised are the moonlike cheeks
Of sported queen. A horny jack, plucked from ace,
And steal a courtier’s eye till all he fades.
Two. Three. Four. As easy five can be,
Ere placed are those in descending figures,
Then calls louder, a friend and foe kept watch,
By door they gathered, by light they hindered;
Now cruel was the lamp beside their guest’s debris
In whose cards adorned. Their king and queen await.
But, P. was no man in interest of free and slaving bits,
Nor could breathe a breath to light the fire,
Nor cheat a jack with cheated queen.
Nor ace the pile till stack compile.
Now breathed from none to pile till one till done,
Who knew then? His friends still watched afar,
The moves. The thoughts. Every move beckons which.
Though slightly disoriented by gaze of card and friend,
He knew not who were truer to worth of his,
That bet he shone, that gold be had. Glory he called.
But then he sunk his teeth in dry-chapped lips,
His arse swollen by excess seating in lonely chair,
Now cheeks command a silent break from silent play,
But would he then? If not so wise, he ought.
Meanwhile the game was finished, and turned was he
He would say, “Look! I’m done!”, but no free is this,
More he wanted, but less he wanted. But more is now.
Yet continues to play till all friends now a pile,
This much they’d bleed from boredom and excess,
Now shat their curses and disdain: off they went.
Leaving only P. alone with cards for glory.
Leaving in the dark was P. for king and queen,
So soon he found no card to place.
No card to move.
And so he sat there, in thought. Alone.
Now casts aside those faulty cards,
But could not rejoin his friends alight.
Having lost both friend and card,
He resigns to drink till sleep is nigh.
A chain turns cold round my waist,
Whose iron bonds give weight tenfold,
Nor right, nor left a turn I bid anew;
The sight I see is one enchained,
In every sound I speak a wisdom
Whose echo casts a shadow on me,
But never I said don’t walk away!
These bonds that break, my fate resigns,
Mute are the words of child he thought,
To pass adult now still his mind abides,
Though once I was able, now I am not,
With all I will so my heart endures,
Break the chain with warming heart,
Cast the Sun’s rays mine eyes do kiss,
Ere blinded by life anew, who could tell?
Rather I this much blind than be unseen,
Link by link, double bond by bond: blessed
Be those who have believed, but never seen.
I was born with initials scarred on me,
My eyes were browned by blood congealed,
All the horror I see is a horror I am,
No sound of music can wash a breath away,
If no sun can light every road so gold,
Then I shall carve gold out of thin air,
Let me construct the path I ought to walk,
Now I see a way, but I turn away. I know.
It was a silly idea, but I learnt and I went,
Now the cheeks of clouds pour forth their load,
No one is there to say I’m sorry, nor to gloat,
Now the angels weep. Now the demons awake.
Bring me to the palace of diamonds and dark,
Now construct a face I can never afford. It’s me.
I’ll dance when everyone else is danced out.
I’ll breathe when I’m this much a lasting one.
Now I am walking towards a sudden lapse of life,
One I cannot deny, so much a tree gives leaves,
Soon I find myself in the greatest crossroads here,
Some say it’s a trap, but here, it’s a life so near.
Help me, for canvas imprisoned here,
A respite too short for crowds near,
Mine art is subtle, if not to freeze;
I weep, for this smile would not cease,
That nearby clock, you see? I count all,
Seconds pass, every hour, till it tolls,
Beckon mine eyes apart; one is faded,
If tears allow, the other shall be aided,
I am cursed by paint; he is cursed to paint,
If he saw my tears, could it be he’d faint?
This potrait is alive, I am seeing you;
I can hear every word you utter anew,
Ev’ry argument; ev’ry debate; ev’ry word.
I can make out a reddened eye you broke,
A single eye that tears, without art provoke,
Twas how I felt when I was being drawn,
No more. The Lady of the Portrait is born.
In stormy weather; I am here: a rain pours,
My naked hand an umbrella poised by force,
A drooping head since these long years,
My constancy is but a sum of all my fears,
Now I’m free a while, to step into your world,
Examine all that is, understand all you mold;
In the midst of silent dark where non can see,
So give me leave so that privy I may be free,
No amount of patents you call, nor right of work
Ought make demise of my being nor essence a work,
I dedicate silent acclaim to a silent wish,
Now I but dance alone is all I sole cherish.
With fading time, softening wind, my drooping pursue:
A time is nigh for all fun to end and pain ensue,
For an obligation to fulfill, a frame calls me near,
That same frame, whose bars encapsulate me dear
Here I am, back, and as though nothing was meant,
Alone and in disgust, this portrait that I say,
A sun that melts me, a rain washes all away.
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.
In the midst of chaos, he found his purpose; in the midst of woe, he found himself. In the midst of defeat, he found his vict’ry; in the midst of death, he found his life.
In the midst of thought, he found his reason; in the midst of fight, he found his right;
In the midst of knowing, he found his base; in the midst of God, he found his faith,
In the mist of loss, it was he who became lost; in the midst of now, it was he whom he shall know,
In the midst of past, it was he who became now; in the midst of song, he knew he was not alone.
My dearest, of all sights. Now comes a time when a man’s life suddenly ends, and then is never returned. But his ego will always return. It lives in the mantelpiece of that brain and casts aside all reason and thought; everything becomes in peril. Imagine being took by an unknown force and in order to live you ought your life to give. It was simple. It was the ego he had to give. The art he gave became the chance he diced. In muse besought, he wanted to be something better. For all men desire to be someone better, but none dare walk the steps that lead him to danger peril. But when he does, so shall he in desire fraught, so that any who knew him shall remember him for any he gave.
But I mention no further the calm, and the serene, and the moon that is but akin to star shine bright across the Earth. It is he who walks the day. His peace is the war of others. Your words ill-thought are but comedy to a man’s venture. And it comes to this when she becomes the man and you become the lady to sing in vital prose to understand the way of knowing and the ink that throws the fray.
No tattoos nor metal can break a man, nor make a man, nor fake a man, nor forsake a man, nor partake a man in restful hope of who he is and what he ought to be.
No meagre lie can make truth a man, nor loss whether in court or foe make better the art he ought to give.
Nor insults nor compliments can move a man without a value in the meaning he ought possess.
Nor fright and fear that his life be gambled and ought be shambled in the essence he once ought to live.
Nor exist in the lurks of others as demons true; he himself becomes the demon.
So cast aside all the worlds he himself sought, and so last in the now that all moulds himself he brought;
Nor kite the lingering feel, the emblem wheel, the chasing eel, the darting meal, the exiled zeal;
The harp is broken. The lark is dead. The art is led. Homer is said. A soma is fed.
His is the sum of all he knows; he is the product of all he endures; he is the difference between himself and foe;
He is the life he never had; he is the reality that brought him dread; he is the shout that calls him forth;
He is the new that brought him old; he is the love that brought him cold; he is the dove that brought him sold.