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
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.
in the black between the lights that distant shine on our desires are darkened chasms hid from night where stars once burned in golden fires yet they are but ash from scattered flames which on eternal winds have strayed and this detritus has us stained for from such dead stars are we made.
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.
this restless mind of man meanders spinning silken strand striations beyond the flesh and bone had formed and in this web of situations is captured lust and love and hate contained in unsaid conversations in lost desires un-communicated for mortal souls have reservations and cannot hold all threads in hand whether conscious or unplanned.