what great battles bloodied thee spirit of the broken briar do you from campaigns flit and flee as sparks escape the dying fire I fancy thee as kindred heart alone among the mass and fold a soul that solitude imparts your counsel to yourself paroled.
melting moments weep through lace seasoning this special place with those flavours so intense to spice the taste of remembrance this reverie has yet to pass but in its form my thoughts trespass and stain them with its watermark which shines as beacon in dreams dark
oh give to me pine shadows to guard me from the flames that lap my flesh from tarmacadam in the lands we’ve tamed oh bury me in graven glades away from other men and let the forest comfort me til’ autumn flies again and decks the land in golden snows to cool me when I sleep but for now give me pine shadows for dreams of woodlands deep
what higher liturgy can be than communion with these trees that stand as defence to the woes less worthy deities impose upon men lost to empty words of promised life through suffered burdens, yet this arboreal respite comforts against all holy spite thus let me splendour in the trees for here I find my soul at ease.
inside the darkness shines a light which overcomes the fearful nights and monsters that abroad do dwell in corners where the shadows swell from doubts and fears the dark instills, the light of dreams evoke the will to face what sombre moods may come between felled dusk and rising sun.
to seek my eternity on the written page was folly I had thought but to have your eyes read each word I write I know it’s not for nought each phrase I drag from where.. ..or when each piece of soul set free evolves with life outside the pen and defies mortality
those times of poets, of thinkers’ dawns now lost to dark blood on the thorns that cast black shadows o’er the light and in our vanity bleed night for petty riches has a cost now Arcadia is lost yet hope of Eden’s blessed return in all poets and the thinkers burn