Kingdom

 

And in this grand kingdom,

With spires of pages,

And towers of wisdom,

My solemn muse rages.

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Corpse

 

With death’s cold corpse astride,

There are no more tears to be cried,

So, for all my sins, I died.

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Hammering

 

And the hammering seconds,

Redolent of sufferings,

As mortality beckons,

For seasonal offerings.

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Symphonies

 

And what if we were symphonies;

Expressing our epiphanies,

So free of this constraint,

Muses our patron saints.

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Scattered

 

My fragments strewn and scattered,

I don’t wish to write of love,

With reason and hope shattered,

Alone as a wounded dove.

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Pebbles

 

As free pebbles do dance,

‘Neath water’s restless fall,

Shadows loom in a trance,

By rivers branching crawl.

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The Beetle

 

With such a great distance lost,

Disappearing by the moon,

As a beetle in the frost,

Freezes and dies too soon.

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Musical Seeds

 

Seeds of my music,

They sprout from the sound,

Leaves my heart musing,

As the notes play down.

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Writing

 

Writing takes away the pain,

Of sleepless nights up fretting,

Of the stabbing of the rain,

Of the thoughts most upsetting.

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You filled my pockets with tears.

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Sleepless

 

In the depths of night,

Restless and awake,

My eyes burn with light,

With no sand to take.

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Music

 

I drew a breath of music for you,

Whilst awaiting in the dark and cold,

My notes in the icy morning dew,

My breath a concerto to behold.

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