I've seen these woods a time or two
just flutt'ring in the breeze.
Amidst a wave of blowing grass
one stands out amongst the trees.

A chorus of volcanic red
as autumn chimes it's turn.
A hopeless place with little grace
as winter flows and burns.

But watching now as spring has set
my heart has asked me why
a single tree amidst the leaves
can strongly catch my eye.

My spirit's set. I need to know,
averting my own cause.
For as simple as this tree is,
everyday it give me pause.

So I stop and seek to shelter
my thoughts but I cannot
for my eyes have both been captured
by this life which God forgot.

And I sit upon the heather
in a glade of buttercup blooms,
and for every heart's imprisoned
by which love has no more room.

Well, the years drag on so silent
as I ponder on the grass.
And the tree just goes on waving
as my heart succumbs at last.

Innocence

If only innocence could be packaged,
then maybe this world would still shine.
What if the dark just... went away,
then maybe... somewhere... you'd still be mine.

What if... no, that's too soon mention!
As harsh as these memories seem...
maybe I'm just... floating in silence.
A portion of midnight. A flickering dream.

I crave for some life... just a glimmer...
maybe a piece of shrapnel... in my heart.
But if I am honest... maybe just this once...
maybe God will let my soul depart.

Oh, if only innocence could be bottled...
Then maybe you would still be here.
But dreams and wishes never come true.
Not stopped in a bottle. Not shed in a tear...

(This was a metaphor on the long distance my wife and I suffered. Two years on a screen)

Oh Lady Lost, amidst the fallen grass,
in Autumn where the chivalrous do see
that there beneath the candlelight’s soft blush,
a woman with no face lies down to grieve.

She mourns the fact that Light is now an outline
of what she hoped to hold in futures grace.
She sees her need across moonbeams crescent,
her love, her lust, an oath she set in place,

that one day soon into his arms she’d fall,
and then they two would stay forever sealed
together in this longest of embraces;
the truest of all loves will be revealed.

But hardened their two hearts in the shallows,
and stolen are the means they both require.
Passion moves about in jangled music,
while in their hearts remains a secret fire.

They want to touch, to know each other’s eyes,
they want to gaze in words from out their lips.
But this tale is longest in the making,
they live in different lands, on separate ships.

Little Lady Lost (Sonnet)

Rebellious thoughts in youth descry a hold
upon the very minds of virtues tongue.
Our Little Ladies soiled by men so bold,
within an inch, their very lives are flung

upon the tainted mattress where they’ll lie
until their bodies waste through large misuse,
and fey their voices close, too oft they die;
slow *****, fast killed, Light broken through abuse.

Though one there is, not timid in her haste
she knows the way to take away the pain,
she lies there, pretense moaning; what a waste,
a Lady, Little girl born to the chain.

I ponder now, these words under my pen
of children lost, to suffer under men...

Last night... they fumbled. Stumbled,
failed, ending in her disappointed hope.

'Why do you not lust me?' She asked him
but his sorrow was too much to bear
and he slowly faded away, leaving
her cold and empty.

He is doomed. He bears the shackles
of indifference on one hand. Love on the
other. They cause a hesitation so strong...
no arrogance cam ever overcome it.

So he falls to his knees and screams in
anguish. 'Help me Cre'Atus!' But wind only
answers with a breeze and the occasional
furore.

He hears her calling his name from another
world. His saddened sigh is enough to lay waste
to entire countries,  but he goes, a little
slowly. A little hesitantly. Hoping she
will still exist when he gets there.

This is a metaphor of my own life. WARNING. IT IS LONG. I don't expect anyone to read it.
---
A shadow claws up your skin tonight.
Combing each wrinkle with heightened delight.
Each pin ***** tendril sends an ecstatic
amount of confusion into your mind.

And you wonder...

If fortune was true... then what of the man
who came in a storm, while before him ran
an energy source he named Midnight Eve
who caused him to rise. To fall. To believe.

For while he was nothing, with time left to squander
his feet were too restless, for him to just wander.
Though the dark of the sky, clouded his eyes
and the tower above which rose through the skies

set a sample of truth which was hard to ignore.
A sample of face. A chime sounding core
which left behind music, friendship and charm
and fought against peace to cause some self harm.

Yes he strove by the day. Every minute and hour,
possessed by a height, a young,  dying flower
which in truth was a game to confuse and deceive him
but he knew, he foretold, and refused to believe in

a whelp made of feathers, claws and two wings.
Meant to defy him, and rip hearts of kings.
But moved onward, further, forgetting her name.
He played his own style. He played his own game.

He moved on...

He had a hand in throwing down the tower.
Each step he took, deprived it of it's power
til at the last he looked back at the sky
and saw a sight his mind could not defy.

For in his huge desire just to escape,
and maybe soon his mind would not be *****,
the blackened sky produced a single light
which held his gaze forever from that night.

That light beheld the shadow on his brow
and brightened up the sky, still up til now.
The God made structure fell, to dust it crumbled.
And he was free, so onward he stumbled.

Time carries on...

Oh Midnight Eve, he longs to see
your dark shod eyes revived.
For in those pools, he is a fool,
a piece of life denied.

He met a God, of light and waste
who tried to snare his bell.
He picked her up and tossed her off
the world and so she fell.

Wanderer returns:

While he travelled he often stopped
for rest. On one such occasion, as
he slept, he was visited by a beast
claiming to be a friend. This beast
gave him wings and power and
disappeared into thin air.

The wings were snares.  The power
was contradictory to true strength
and offered him only chains and
lack of hope.

The sun sets:

Winter has fallen,
yet he must find her, his light
before she moves on.

Always she's two steps.
And no matter how he runs...
he never sees her.

The truth and an end:

He caught her once, peering at him
through a different reality A sphere he
could never perceive.

He clove at that rounded ball,
impossibility chipping his wings,
stripping his power, yet always
she smiled at his efforts, love in
her eyes.

It drove him crazy with desire, to
see sadness within those beautiful
slanted eyes, and with his last bit of
strength he forced his hand into
another world, touching for a second
her beautiful cheek.

Then he was gone... and she was alone
again. She looked at his gravestone,
and with her love, inscribed it with
his own heart...

HERE LIES DISTANT WANDERER
WHO TRAVELLED TIME AND SPACE
TO FIND HIS MIDNIGHT EVE.

If wishes were kisses,
our eyes would be dry.
No counting the bottles
of tears we could cry.

We'd challenge the night-time,
to bring us our heart.
And when it arrives,
the end is the start.