when she wakes
the whole world breaks
into shards
a million shapes
which in countless colours shine
as the night is left behind
and brings forth calico dawn
of patterned sunlight on the morn
a tapestry of passion born
free rhyme
Saturn
Kronos, blue as time itself
yet quieter and serene
father to a million tears,
are you in shackles
imprisoned as are we
to the noise of passing years
The Stream
the stream has an air of familiarity
it is not the waters of home…
…yet
like a song played
in a different key
its running whispers
still speak to me
Beyond The Pyramid of Cestius
he was not water
nor dust upon forgotten air
need you not
his deeds
to read
in ancient stone
his heart alone
is all remembrance fair.
A Ritual
these lines betray ceremony
a composition’s liturgy
which determines
if these words
are ever to be heard
or if the page in time
will burn
discarded
but should they form the poetry
of those emotions known to me
then the rite
of how I write
will find its rhyme
and remain unto the world
regarded.
The Leaves
these dark dead leaves
are last year’s scattered dancers
exhausted from their history
lost to rhyme and time
forgotten even by their trees
as we too one day will be
The Stranger
the stranger
came again at dawn
his arrival
heralded by waking stolen reverie
and as his hand
reached out for mine
a cold unearthly
stole all memory
of the dream
which had foretold
how our brief society
would end.
The day before
on the day before
this world had ended
the skies fell silent
as the last songbird
to new heavens ascended
Untitled Song
she said to me farewell
and from this summer’s golden joy
winter’s dark befell
she said to me goodbye
and ’twas at once all of the stars
had left the evening sky.
we are no more she said
and in a moment from this heart
all that lived was bled.
Vulcan
Hephaestus strikes the anvil
and the world shatters apart
his furnace red and fired
as any lover’s heart.
His passion spreads across the land
and ashen his desire
when the smoke has lifted
such destruction has he sired
the blighters rock 