Tag Archives: writing

Crimson

My soul feels cold
My eyes blind
What is, seems not
And what wasn’t, came to be

The veil of ignorance
Trapped in my illusions
These cuffs from the past
Eating flesh around my ankles

If only I had listened,
To the winds from the future
The Black Swan I saw,
Floating down a drying stream

The road we walked,
On shelling mines under our feet
A brother I lost
The only sister to care

Only to cry on my shoulder
Before she turned and walked,
Into the horizon
With my hands painted,
Into the crimson of the falling sky

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A dead clock

In the silence of the night,
Am caught in the sounds of my soul
Dark thoughts cloud my mind,
and am lost of calm

I can only go higher
Try I only come to see,
my folly,
the shame of the past

Life but a mystery
Happiness but a flash
Son but a life
And torment but a wage

Seek redemption
What was and never was
But another day
And a night to meditate

The essence of life,
What was and is,
To be lost and gained,
In the dimension of a dead clock

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May, the seventh

A great man warms the hand of a princess
The day is the seventh,
Of a rich May

When love stretches the skies, bounding two hearts
The rings of gold

The Lord blesses souls
A good thing he found,
And a favour he received

Bless the earth with thy seeds,
And let he be blessed,
He that blesses thou and thy family

Oneness of the heart trumps all
The bravest woman shades all
And seeks counsel,
from the divine

She tides his suit,
Readies the dinner table
And flogs her man,
Else his eye strays

Of course he doesn’t,
For the roses are young
And the moon is full
So they lay,
Resting on their honeymoon

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The tale of men

The later called the first,
“early men”
When the future settled on the moon,
And the sky was a city

The divine incarnated,
And the earthlings become,
Angels and demons
Waving swords and shields

They soaked the dust with blood
And with each sun
Sparked a fire,
On the snowy mountain

The low man laid in a rubble
And the celestial dined on the stars
Watching fireworks on a New Year’s
Drunk on wine by their cushions

This they called,
“civilisation,”
And “modernisation,”
Was it?

And I a robot,
In this dump on Saturn,
That watched it all,
Before, I was just junked

image

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