Solitude, always trying to be the greater God
Expecting your service, tribute to prejudice
Sacrifice your consolidation to companionship
The moon seems hollow, death digging level of compromise
Collapsing walls, crawling to the better prize.
Autumn leaves fluttering past our windows
Bitter morning colours, a tasteless prison for my mind
Jolly Roger, consumed by Torture
Privacy for your Piracy
To become, the monster that you feared
Loved
Bled for
Lost
Tasteless prisons, ice topped with sweetening desires
A trail led by pebbles
Silent whispers trapped within these walls
Stop
Solitude is the greater God.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 4:51 PM UTC
It is a lazy, restful time
here in the forest glade.
The sun is departing, the stars arriving
and the trees are a darkening jade.
An air of buzzing, drowsing stillness
invades the meadow, lends weight to my head
as I settle down, bedroll, backpack
and strains of music are seemingly played.
A deep, cool, dark pool is here
mirror clear, reflections of skies,
as peace fills my mind, my soul
and sleep gently touches my eyes.
I know not whether I was awake, or in dream
or how much time has passed,
when I felt the magic of this place
camped there, upon the grass
No sounds, no crickets? (The Music!)
As the Moon awakens the pool, so bright.
Why this anticipation, premonition,
this magical feeling, this ghost haunted night?
Then, a Siamese cat enters the meandow-
silver grey, regal composure, flowing lines.
And somehow I know - I see intelligence
and wit, and power, as she looks into my eyes.
How does she speak without speaking?
But somehow, she communicates goodwill, and cheer.
"Stay quiet, childe of man." she says.
"Be still - you are but a guest here."
Then a parade of feline musicians
wandered in singing from the right
I shake my head bedazzled, Am I dreaming, or mad?
Why me - here to witness this eldritch sight?
A Troupe of dancing, cavorting gnomes
made their appearance upon a rocky stage.
And following them: silver clad, haughty elves
accompanied by a wizened old mage.
Now, many strange but noble presences made manifest
on that starlit night in June.
And I witnessed and heard sweet music, high magic, secrets
until dawn, with the passing of the Moon.
And the high bred Queen of Cat Folk
smiled with warmth, and left.
Left me shaking with these visions,
and nodding, I finally slept
I return often to these stately woods, seeking
but never finding the sacred pool, so bright.
It makes me sad, very sad to think
that it was but a dream, a peculiar night.
But somethings, at the edge of sleep,
soft music slowly beckons and calls.
And I know with every fibre of my being
that I will again visit these magical sylvan halls.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC
Wandering the square of his village, long after all the shop doors have closed.
Lost in his thoughts, imagining what each might hide behind their closed doors.
The old woman lost her son, yet she privately awaits his return
The couple is lonely, and she loves the curious glances of the man -
who loves upstairs across the way.
That girl who loves there, but a child,
carries the love of one hundred men, and keeps all their secrets safely from them
And I? And I?
How many of these thoughts that I keep deep inside,
would destroy my future, and cast me from these streets.
Chased from my town with scorn and ridiculee.
If they knew what I have done, and what I still do.
How could they continue to think of me as they do, and welcome me
into their homes and children's birthdays?
How can these secrets be so vile, when they are
- alas -
only one part of me?
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC