Author: the blighter's rock

even little pebbles have a song to sing


we dream of endless hopes
for intertwined are they
distant cousins in our psyche
to reunite one brighter day
and in such reveries we see
what visions of a future cast
that speak to that we long to be
divorced from any darker pasts,
yet such dreams are but whispers
lost upon four unseen winds
thus how may we have claimed to lost
those hopes our longing never finds.


once blessed was he of simple needs
yet time’s cold kiss did burden him
no more the fruit of golden trees
could counter the hungers held within
long gone the days the child did play
without a thought of dawns to come
the innocence of yesterday
in fleeting moments was it gone
as Adam cast from paradise
now is he cursed by passion’s seed
that no more his wants suffice
and nor the world can sate his greed.

Truths Lost

what sweet seasons these were in my youth
that sparked all promised dawns under the sun
and held no cynicism above the truths
which spring denies until the winter comes
for all the cold days held in my marked years
have withered absolutes as does the frost
in killing roses with the dew’s first tears
until the blooms of our beliefs are lost.

Lost Voice

My voice is lost
to the chattering
of classes I do not know,
nor understand,
which sit uneasy
within my thoughts.
Disingenuous in accent
and syntax,
more atuned to the dry
the silenced tongues
of the long since dead.
My voice is lost,
a magpie in the graveyard
stage managed words
of mumbled travesties
from redbrick libraries
cursed to be artifice learned.
My voice is lost
or was it ever truly there?