My skin it burns and scorches
These twisted Seven Suns
It reeks, it's caustic
These curséd Seven Suns.
You loathsome orbs
My malice for you unbounded.
You wicked sons of Apollo
May the cities shun your name!
My hands they crack and sizzle
'neath these Seven Suns
These fruits they wilt and shrivel
'neath these Seven Suns.
The wisened ropes they wither
On harshly laboured waists
And ancient stones they crumble
Before masons lay to waste.
I beg the seasons of mercy
"Grant Icarus his revenge!"
Let them rain their naked blessings
And deliver me your end.
You'll scorch the earth that stays me
and clench the air I breathe
But come the fall of night
I'll dance upon your wreaths.
"You curséd sons,
You devlish pests,
No more, no more!"
I'll rejoice in your relief
Pay tribute to your demise
As the moonlight it embalms me
And the darkness clothes my eyes.
Now Nyx's reign commences
Her air so cool and pure
The slender fingers of night
Beckon nocturnal dawn.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
Last night I opened the door to a fear I do not know,
a stranger from the street.
Its overwhelming silhouette now casting over my feet.
It greeted me like a neighbour,
tightly gripping at my hand,
a warmth not becoming of the spectre I did not understand.
For my life I've carried this scar.
A symbol of my mother's mercy,
A blessing of a life for which others have been thirsty.
I quietly parade it in defiance,
that slender crescent moon,
rising from my skin so as not to be forgotten.
Now I stand at the doorway of my conscience
and warily make acquaintance,
with the helpless fear that long feasted on my mother's patience.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 1:05 PM UTC
Quick sweep of the steeple's steep
staircase winding
forever reminding
of a chasm in the maze and the mess;
A House of Mirrors.
A ***** trail, left to confess.
Three hail marys and a change of tack;
A quick sin shower
gets the devil off the back.
Perpetually pious of the priest
to keep the gun beneath the sheets.
Christ is hanging on the walls
a quick look up
the burden falls.
Shattered into tiny pieces
peace re-pieced upon the altar,
by Holy ghost and ****** Mary
Be this not the day he falter.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
Skyscrapers scarfed in dawn's mist,
their torsos shrouded by nature's wisps
a reminder that man made this,
that wind and the water could show it
its end.
Metropolis unharmed,
lit windows like the glints of a thousand eyes.
Unknowing and blissful.
The fog unfolds like an opened hand,
palms upwards, swaying in the boulevard.
Happ'ly I stand, upon the mountain's edge
and admire the regal coexistence
of man and its maker.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
Spiralling upwards, it dances
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Shine beams stopped short in the fog.
The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.
Mittened song sheets conduct
a huddle of duffle coats
and frosted boots, rooted in the snow.
Sweet carols leave notes hanging
in tranquil harmony.
‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Failure is a haunting fear
but fear itself is worse.
A deceitful ghost
like the closed door
keyless
now a wall.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
The wild jazz solo of the oscillating wind,
tossing the great waters,
out-singing the sheer sighs of the unruly sea.
The clouds dressed grey, in mourning
the sun will peek
only to be swallowed by fishermen's mist.
Flickering bolts greet thunder rolling
with unchallenged prevalence,
shaking the Earth into fear.
Nature's response.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
The pigeon dove's
is my favourite sound,
the quintuple coo
not so profound
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
Once upon a dainty hill
sat old castle of a young king
not busied by ***** thrills
but in the realm, fair Muse did sing
sorry as such
to trouble you sire
but farmer, lady and great squire
are, unto you, to enquire
how it is the sun makes such fire
to this the young king
furrowed his brow
and scratched his chin
and pondered how
eight days did pass
and woe betide
the pressing question
found no bride
the elders of the castle old
let fairy tales of disorder unfold
a great dragon they say
lit the sun
after finding itself lost
and on the run
from a shadow giant
of world unseen
but the tales of course
were all but dreams.
A little voice
filled the air
with light and weightless
soulful flair
a blacksmith's girl
of simple dress
excuse me sir
i must confess
this minor stir
has caused me stress
the young king bade her speak
and with that, the child weak
stood atop a wonky box
with certain eyes and wavy locks
dear people
i now must say
that it is on this cold and fateful day
my mind has led to such dismay
as I have learned to trust none of you.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
you say i trust to equal those in the past
whom have brought only pain and hatred
upon those in their wake?
well it's time to take a look in the mirror
my friend, no, wait, don't do that,
i wouldn't want to inflate your ego
it would come as no surprise to me if in that
mirror you would only see the eighth wonder
of the world, ever wondered if you could see
the world? i take that back, there is no sense
in snapping and losing my temper,
but all i'm doing is back tracking and
finding my self exempt of the respect that i
deserve, only you can serve to notice
the pain that you have harboured
upon the empty hearts of which now yearn
for that ever self-loving and i can only leave
you with this advice
turn around and back off
that ain't love it's idolatry.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC