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?
Though starts with sleep, ending with none; I give tale of neither sorrow nor gay a mind, Hence muses, my mind yea creased enough; For enough is it that I dwell, and think alone When more my thoughts become my self, In points I arrest my soul do dreams declare: One night, those years ago, remembering so - The widest wake winked a moon 'neath ground, Blessed its ravine a drooping glow of white, By whose softer rain did drew tears down its cheek, As though fading, in each step a ripple would tear, Though cool was air and mild an air breathed was I, Surrounded by none but trees, crying its leaves away, I saw the rusted oaks and birchs give drooping sap, If I were an ant, I would surely have a beautiful ending, But no, I am that I am, and so that is all, stood side a cart, This girl approached and I asked what matter here: She answered not, my thoughts gone awry; This young girl, graced I figure not of the age, Who was she? Exploited, decieved, I thought, Extending my hand, I gave it freely, but she would not take, A few seconds here were hours then; I was beckoned leave, But no, it shall not be! Hind me was a mansion, I shall enter, Each creek sunk my heart, each breath paralysed an heart, If I had any, then I should confront her captor, But I had all, I hid in a nearby cubicle, shivering and weeping. Her footsteps could be heard, my heart would crack its glass, Let its fumes depart from me, let its morphine take me, If not a heartbreak, so kill me here. Let me die in my sleep! But no, her opening of the door led me to the gate, So I thought, but it was not. I could not fathom it, She transported me from the nether to the whither Unto which my bed still warm and there lay I as stone, Still, she was there; her eyes so wide, gowned in white; A scrutinising stare, still as petrified a rabbit's tail erect, In this dark room, she was the brightest spectre unseen, These past few hours have brought me here to this: Cannot move; cannot speak; cannot tilt my head; nothing. I could only groan, I can only breathe and stare, After minutes of visual discourse, she walked slow, Walked to the door, and still looking at me, waved, Grabbing my door, slowly departed. I waved back. Her leaving gave me back my senses, my voice, etc. Well, muses come forth, and this they did, Walking round my bed and into my wardrobe (and fro) They walked, and they walked slow, walking round, The spectres and the horned-beast would approach, Breathe their stale breaths into me and kiss my cheek, My drooping head would tear, a heart now beating slower Could cherish a moment's rest, asking for respite, asking: "Why do you do this to me? What fright! What is it with you?" I am the flame, I am the creased soul whose gaps invite all, Let them change me, let them mould me for dark or light, But I am afraid, like in my childhood being guided away, I have been haunted, and now even muses walk away. Trees would not be bristling, nor sap for my sight beheld, Though looking back, all these years, in just a few hours dream, No sleep could give me, nor dream bestow such a memory, That God hath sought in me to deliver my concept purposed.
Then you shall brush aside each star Till only dark mounts your gaze, Through each climb, no light be spared, Let glimpse of the nearest world prepare Even if the moon's glow were just a phase, At last you breathe, but look from afar! How far you've travelled, surely relieved, But feign not a weeping heart to tear, Live the breeze and feel the snow descend, Whilst flakes kiss your skin: 'tis a God-send, Though much I ask from above you so high, Now then! your long face; all I ask is why?
Not a verse, nor a song, A word told an hour long, Leave me be untold cares, Such gales kiss lips so bare, Then part my foot a way, Ere the dawn sweeps my day, There brought is star alone, No sun but swiftly hone, And the steps call us here, I hear echo seize mine ear, Each sound whisper seeping, May noon burn my keeping, And the eve still strikes loud, And the gulls yet free tout, Nor moon pleasure bestow, Till light anew is towed, Anchored here, err mine eyes, Each hour the light's tail dyes, What new spectre followed, Descend upon mine ode, Wipe my tears till morn glow, Banish next my hourly slow.
My night tender, sombre, Till mirror breaking dark, How foolish I was ignoring, Those hundred drops falling, With each, new mirrors fall, On each break, life restarts.
Some time ago, it was almost a speck; a boy I knew, but he was a strange guy. I didn’t know exactly who he was, but I could relate to him somehow. He loved to wander around in streets, even parks, the bay, under the night, lidless sky could not bind him away. I’d see him from time to time, walking. To no end. He would pass through the canals, cross the bridge, delve below a tunnel, and keep walking. He didn’t exactly know where he was going I thought; he kept moving back and forth, even looking yond his shoulder back. Whether paranoid or no, he seemed cautious. A hint of anxiety kept him, but he still kept going, somehow.
Beside the fact: this was years ago. I can’t believe it – five years. It was that long for a man his age; but five years can be five minutes in a squared amount of time. Anyway, I followed him. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was walking, where he was going, the air he breathed, the sights he saw, the cars he heard, the people who laughed, and all the swans that swum past the brewing glow. This glow nought I had, in bitter thought comes shaking sleep. ‘Tis sound alone he ought to keep, the rest is bark to sleep. In this space, in this hour, half his sight was cast in gaze, the rest is brought in dark ahead.
Some hour later, he stopped where I just knew where he would stop. This was it. I cried. This was it. It all happened here. The beginning of an evening; the end of the morning; the start of endless night eclipsed by sun under the farthing sun. Everything just fades; echoes – echoes, into the fold. A sound deep, be it consumed in dark. Within this realm, there were no street lights, no. It was all different, you see. A bridge was yond from here, and there were lights, with some not lit. It seemed like it dimmed a road, and this was where he followed through.
Step by step, breath from breath, reduced to congealed blood that soured his heart, soon he kept his pace. His heart boiled and kettled vapour through each lung that sunk cold breezy air and dispersed a new life into the air around him. Within this dark manifold of sempre solitude shook the break of his communal worship in the gait that forsook his brow that gestured at the slightest sound that cast him from here to worlds above, so far from he, and not so far from reach.
Beneath two towering blocks, whose fumes used to bring gaze from all the city at long lost thoughts of musing jeer, at fusing cloth brought freezing fear fraught with a demise of a lost city buried under nostalgic price in gaping memory of one so lost. He stood beneath the biggest tower, sat on the grass, breathed the air. Thus seeing five brilliants of the night, felt four fragments of memory, heard thrice a wolf, a distant footstep and a ripple wrung with stone; twice he smelt a cool air and the smell of distant trees bellowing before him. Once he breathed, he became whole again. Once he breathed, he became me again.
Every wing becomes a scar betrothed,
Everything congeals with blood so weak,
An echo calls the moon by fools aloof,
Their sounds so silent only mad can tell,
And with every cold touch is ill begot,
And all but none can none say they heard
A creep lurks in the dark in trees behind,
There it breathes the fear you ought deny,
Soon it bleeds your angst with thoughts proclaim:
Never mind the love you seek in heart’s recess,
Never mind the mean you hold in great excess,
I will not pass into shadow as I am such as is,
Nor back down ere your shadow crawls to this;
The tale of great delight in those parts there,
Forget all who knew you to be so fair,
This night is deigned in new pleasures gain,
And what resistance you hold is ill but vain,
So coming with me, no pun intended, is right,
And slide all but skin ere sleeping muse is tight.
For hypocrisy is as virtue a vice as sung by fame,
It be never; perversion speaks not my name,
And if I am got, so shall I fold my heart in two,
But if I am fought, then may my heart rise at once.
Yond. The heart that meets the bay,
Long had they walked in spite of fear,
In bliss they sang and hopes ere rang,
The ears rung through sounds and hope,
Their lives relished the taste of Earth
For which no sea could never wash away,
And there stood this sight of great joy
Who knew which pill they ought to take.
Bitter nor sweet, nor salt and gruel
Could fuel the motion on mountain cliff,
For within this group one had heart to go
Beyond their group’s measure before the Sun.
These words once I knew so soft,
As truth as known what could never beat,
The hand that takes my heart to sea,
Along the resting shore an hour resides,
Along the darkening glee no words replace,
That of every drop of night came flooding
The tears bestowed this sea flows above.
Moon, more my walks ‘neath its gaze leap,
More the waves to sign mine eyes at rest,
Who could not bear a sight so high this late
With drooping lids so shelter our holy rain.
This art I try but no gain I am but spent,
Withstood the words that long I wrote
Became the shadow of the words I ought be,
Then for each line a wave will wash away,
Ere no escape reels me from light to scorn,
Before I give my dues back for better born.
Half his life he spent wondering in shadow,
For no few than years would fail to pass,
Bitter more nor sweeter less comes to know,
And he ne not knew the terror that he was,
Until he became man, and so became him,
Ere swept glory wept ere really born,
Shaken from brow down to lidless whim
Who called on night in bittersweet scorn:
Oh, Moon. Don’t let the moon die so soon,
An hour for night in a single second,
Is but mine earnest fault in lasting boon,
Whose wrongs I am are but rights ere reckoned.