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Mark Dec 2018
A brisk haze lingers on the Somme before daybreak
silhouettes parade in ritual fashion;
marching spirited fallen soldiers
wistful baritones, tuning from a war long gone
to us.

Hymns are hindered by densely hazed ridden ether
fog and song colliding as death-powder and musk once fused.
Departed still combat; with duty engraved on mounds
Crabgrass; the life adorning the buried ***** remnants
accustomed to solemnly choirs - oscillating with familiarity
as some were there, tasted the ****** fallout of war.

Battle won and the song sweeps over a lush eerie Somme
a hum helpless to the will of turmoil filled winds
collide leaves tunefully - rustling to the beat of soulful outpouring
pulsing, from roots stemming into the maze of entombment
flocks of black sparrows disperse from the mesmerizing murmurs.
Brass choir can now be grasped:

This is where we lie
patriot's graved abroad
for this is where we died
flesh duly thawed.
To the Somme - we tie;
to linger forever flawed
until our home - we fly.

Our homeland! We sigh
for 'tis reason we fought
Splintered and bled dry
that death us wrought.
Let us glide o'er hills high
sever the strings so taut;
that grace then bid us bye.
Mark Dec 2018
Worthy art thou of glowing praise - in all the ways
so humbly I ode - an emotive rhymed bode,
of lyrics that flowed - from an ardent felt daze
brighter than the heavens ablaze,
so scribed in phrase - your blessed rays:

Blessed art thou blue eyes - of azure dyes,
once dipped in motion into the oceanic potion,
by seraphs with the notion - that thine eyes match the skies,
oh heavens hath let thee rise,
Aphrodite thy guise - art thou blue eyes.

Blessed art thou with gentle tones - of angelic moans
crafted by the wails that drifted Gaelic sails
flowing in trails - of sea queens and their thrones
a simpering grace thy voice clones,
shattered with groans - my hearted stones.

Blessed art thou of amber hair - radiant fair
woven in piles in rarest of the styles
scented in isles - where live roses flair
of lippy shaped kisses they bear,
from mountains I blare - I adore your hair.

Blessed am I to be - favored by thee
tanning in passion of true valentine fashion
carved in ashen - our love branded tree
oh blessed could I ever be,
so worded in spree - my ink coated glee.
Mark Dec 2018
My spirit fuses with the ether;
subtle life force currents
stilled
amidst an atmosphere
canvassed entirely with azure,
high above the clouds.
Through the years
I dreamt of the angelic path
resisting an early end
I lasted throughout
the fog of anguish,
now remnants of my life
linger within the haze
below.

Levitating in a hovering state
of weightlessness;
no limbs, joints nor blood
or prisoning wraiths,
away from the shame
of the neurotic pain
high above the clouds.
Times of farewell
I whispered
to my love and all
who beseeched me to stay
Goodbye,
now fields of energy
forged in time, remaining
below.

Illuminating golden specks;
rays thrown from a seraph
pierce through me
collecting memories
cleansing doubts
of the life just lived,
exempted from a past
sorrowfully burdened,
now freedom in an abode
high above the clouds.
Those bright spears
carry all ties to past life
back into that earthly maze
of pain and torment
Ever to
remain
Below.
Mark Dec 2018
I chase numerical dreams for vocation
ever grasping for untouchable horizons,
counting sand granules
piling leaves in size order
according to shades of ochre.

Then release
to hobby with words
build castles of sentimentality,
sparkle yonder meadows with dew
wetted by inner calligraphy.

Poetry to feather my dust -
echo pain-stained syllables
resounding morosely bound verses,
liberating caved bats
flapping to rhythms
pen strokes.

Launching boulders
onto unvarnished whiteness
once rolling to and fro
on my emotive wolds,
grasslands may grow again.

Pasting tokens of lost love
shrouding texts with torment
stamping lingering wraiths,
least they not prance
for a-while.

Worlds drip-dry here
under auroral poetry
a chance to breathe;
fresh crisp air -
of expressiveness,
I arrived - stayed.
Mark Dec 2018
She was never one for churches;
the incense smells and clanging bells
priestly tells of Ave spells
the window tap from birches
last place you'd find her are churches.

Tho' a seraph aglow was she
of soften lips and rosehip tips
her sweeten grips did caress my hips
as passion flowed by decree
till life's source seeped and died did she.

I don't ever recall her in satin
now Goth's her plume and dark her tomb
in wreathy gloom my heart in loom
engraved in solemn Latin;
radiant tho' does she appear in satin.

I drench in rain from her kin
no words dare, heal their despair
each whimper and glare - a wraith I bear
as death against life did win
dripping, dripping off waters from her kin.

To the golden emblem above the dais
I whisper a hymn, out of me to him
light her husky dim and all her limb
and if she'll raise - onto you I'll praise
and worship you upon this dais.

Not often granted, even in churches
for love is lost, esprit crossed
my mind in frost, our past is glossed
'it dawns now my love' - a whimper searches
'why you were never one for churches'.
Mark Dec 2018
Confession, me? Could I repent my time
And weary be, my pupils then to see
far-gone the dreams, beheld and shined my prime
it's all it seems, to rest and die with me.

Invent a past? The silence is the truth
and took at last, my pain where I had asked
goodbye old sun, the veil of haunted youth
the sorrow won, there I am now to cast.

One only song? Another may have sung
that here i'm strong, and here I could belong
to live by means, that spring the hearted young
my heart it cleans, the journey I prolong.

Yet here I lay, to burn in bright of day
I yearned the way, to rise but here I stay.
Mark Oct 2018
Partake no heart, with what you've done to mine
and leave no token lipstick stain to burn.
For you already swim, in comfort wine
that drowns the cells within my chest to turn.

Then plaque; unused desert will render mold
with sickly smells, your cancer love bequeaths.
I banish each recall of you; untold!
Retaking wind, from out your image wreaths.

Yes clutter none, no more in halls of love
and leave the healing, burden past to me;
to pray uncaged, my heart's own wounded dove
to love again, and revel love to be.

Now take your poisoned love and part my heart
for I shall heal, and bid my love, restart.
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