how should mere words impart the dawn?
that release from night’s surreal kiss
which though blesses us with its domain
cannot compare with morning’s bliss
tinting dark shadows with its gold
and gentle touch that stirs the soul
into this vibrant gallery
of sight and sound and fragrance whole

Mortem Artis

now set aside the golden lyre
forgot the pointed quill
the canvas stretched remains unspoiled
the wheel it sits quite still
no strings to sing a lover’s song
no ink a heart to spill
colours crack upon the wood
as art requires life’s skill
dust has gathered on the dreams
that fuelled his ballad’s fill
the muse has left the vacant form
no more to drive his will.

A Darkness

I feel a weathered darkness come
cold and without succour born
from its clouds I cannot run
as any hope is from me torn
by winds that blow of deep despair
and in its hails of hopelessness
at body and of mind it tears
to leave the soul with emptiness

shine not here the light of morn
better it had never dawned
and that I knew not any peace
save eternity’s release.