has it been a thousand years
or just an hour or two
passing time brings only fears
since it stopped for me and you.
Author: the blighter's rock
Last Seasons
consecrate this forest glade
that the black ashes of my heart
may rest forever in the shade
and of all seasons here impart
under winter’s frozen clothes
and the sparkled springtime thaw
to sleep through summer’s golden glows
and autumn’s fall for evermore.
Moonrise
her face half hidden
silver in midnight velvet
she keeps her secrets
Lament
my bless-ed lament
that I was not a bloom borne
upon your fair breast
Clouds
what be these clouds to me
save the ghosts
of scattered prayers
discarded by the deities
who ply not recourse
to the faithful souls
torn abroad
in fealty.

Sketch
a crimson lust awakened
stoked scarlet with new blood released
all my dreams are churchyard red
flesh exhumed as unseen beasts
Swords
beyond the mountains
phantoms singing ancient ayrs
once flesh, is now mist
The Price
what price this fickle faith
paid as it is
in the questionable coin
of prayers
unheard it seems
by an omnipotence
that is nowhere
to be found
when adversity stalks
The Dream Of Hands
I dreamed a dream
of henna painted hands
which seemed
at first
to defy all understanding
yet upon a further thought
as I a settled meaning sought
these hands were heaven’s prayers
assigned
to calm my troubled
brow with kindness
while I slept
to ease them all away.
Thus these hands,
though of the night
did with gentle fingers
stroke away the darkness
to reveal a new found light.
Vigil of the Hands
despite the darkness
moments are held forever
within loving hands