Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Adrian Betz Dec 2018
A single sober thought against a scape of memories
To simply wish for stillness upon an ever-moving sea
Silenced for the centuries as for me now to behold
Tempting not to walk away, to bide its time to come

Season only changes face twice for the human mind
Now to guess the use of being born then just to die
Elderly the woodworks, fragile beauty bitter-grown
Such it is the way of man, the seed among the sown

Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow


Cinnamon and broken toys, a songbird out of tune
Easy pride in scarlet dress romanticised to blue
Earnest words, a rarest toil to feed such cynic sight
Raising hope to see despair rewrite the dearest lines

Serenity now roams the sphere as if to call me home
Such yet little precious light, a beacon sight of old
Where the age once had a fright so readily to share
Now every night seems easier with every step I take

Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow


Come now
Enter my room
Take me back into the deep dark
The night unknown
A ***** to the sunlight, kin to the moon
Within the cobweb of life all noughts become one

Savour this scarce, small moment
Deep in the wake of a weary-worn world
Silent and long forgotten
My bed underneath a shroud of snow





©2018, Adrian Betz
Adrian Betz Jul 2018
There’s a small little isle
Hidden far beyond horizon and sea
Here the townspeople sleep
While the tower’s giving life to the night

There’s a small little bed
Waiting underneath a shroud of snow
Here my feet may find rest
Before it’s time to give in – to go

Set the sight to the skies
As the soil taints its lands in black and grey
Carry the deepest slumber back to me
Before the dawn comes with its cruel, cold wake


I’m a small little grain
Biding the tides of a cold and cruel world
For all such fairytales won’t lie
Nor keep sincerity to their name

You’re the first star of fall
On a mortal soil to wake and cease
There’s a time and place for everything
With either yet to be revealed

Set the sight to the skies
As the soil taints its lands in black and grey
Carry the deepest slumber back to me
Before the dawn comes with its cruel, cold wake


Then – suddenly
My nights grow small
The world has shown who we really are
Deserted on this small isle
We’ll ride the easy wind
Sailing the smallest of lakes
Dreaming of the greatest of all seas

Set the sight to the skies
As the soil taints its lands in black and grey
Carry the deepest slumber back to me
Before the dawn comes with its cruel, cold wake




©2018, Adrian Betz
Adrian Betz Jul 2018
Within these four walls
I sit and wait for an unknown lover
With uneasy feet and trembling heart
Painting the world in every colour-shade

Within these four walls
I still wonder about the weight of time
Am I to welcome an unwanted guest
Could these nights be my graveyard bed

Have I only learned to talk
To sit here and endure the silence

Thrilling the thought
Cruel the time spent with fading hope
So many tales now to never be told
Only for this one to be finally done


Within these four walls
I tell myself to bide another day
Good things never come to those who wait
But to those who know what to wait for

Within these four walls
I see the morrows slowly kept losing light
Whatever stranger was to greet me once
Might just be too late to wake me now

Have I only learned to walk
To wind up to be my own prisoner

Thrilling the thought
Cruel the time spent with fading hope
So many tales now to never be told
Only for this one to be finally done


Riverbeds dry
Candles starve away
Even the vastest skies will one day have said it all
Roses wither
Embers turn cinders
Sometimes fortune favours misery over bravery

Thrilling the thought
Cruel the time spent with fading hope
So many tales now to never be told
Only for this one to be finally done




©2018, Adrian Betz
Adrian Betz Jul 2018
We seem small under the same stars
Underneath the balcony and the dying bride
A lonely shore, a sight to behold
Where for once I got to see my dreams

I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago


Think of me in moments of contentment
In sceneries only bare in their sincerity
Silvery drawn, perfectly composed
The first star of fall within a foreign shade

I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago


Taint my skies in black and blue
Sometimes dear noughts turn into nothing

I see you, I see you
Through my cradle bars
As a prisoner I’m calling upon you
Why wary
Why obsessed with stories
Written with empty words so long ago




©2018, Adrian Betz
Adrian Betz Jun 2018
Tell them soon I won’t be home this night
And relieve me of the burden, the bitter farewell
Comfort them, a calming voice such as yours
Will be all it needs to keep sorrows away

Tenderest tides, so timelessly fleeting
A yearning verse with an endless story to tell
Purple moonlight, the shores of a cleansed sea
Woeful the sighs sung to the horizons afar

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be


Separate seams holding the same cloth
Then I saw my closest company wake
Fear not, still, before you I will hold my world
Hand in hand with my messenger, my friend

Snow-white stairs, a valley of figurantes
A stellar choir with the quietest piece to play
Come now the breath of a warmly greeting fall
Inviting me to witness the cycle begin anew

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be


Sing me to sleep with peaceful times
Another one then might finally begin

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be




©2018, Adrian Betz

— The End —