We seem small under the same stars
Underneath the balcony and the dying bride
A lonely shore, a sight to behold
Where only 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

The wilds set to sleep as I took a step outside
Into the white fields of the forest winter scape
Fleeting for the moment, timeless for the ages
Is this a dream or death that found me

Hearken to the choir of the weeping wolves
To the patterings of the riverbed running cold
As they seem to reveal their dearest dark secrets
The embers surrender to the falling snow

A tale twice to tell
The seeds for a shade I will never sit within

Once we were here
With a silent wish to send into the night
A small stroke on the canvas of life
The breath of season-coloured hope
Bed for the traveler finally coming home
Endless the days
That carried on with each early rising sun
Now to bide the second before dawn
Here we’ll rest until our time will come
Welcoming the last of the wilds

Was the thought of the journey the only thrill
That nourished the nights with consolace and awe
Did youth give its strength not for me but to rest
This cradle of life a graveyard of man





©2018, Adrian Betz

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 to 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 slave 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