I've meandered the dusty roads,
and seen the rusty machines in fields.
I've wallowed in the pools of self-pity,
and sorrow 'neath the yellow streetlight.
Such is my life.

If I were a painting
hung upon a wall, be I a
painting of flowers, ships or sheep,
it would be of no major concern.
For should my owner have a change
of season, he might remove me
and put another, perhaps more
sought after painting,
I hang on feelings and ratings,
though I am skilfully crafted,
my flaws determine whether
I should rise or fall.

Walking through a dim lit street,
recent rains pleasant stench lurks in puddles,
and the puddles, which reflected softest starlight,
the odd cars steady rumble as it passes,
the softening heart in the loneliness,
that when he leant upon the sandstone balustrade,
delicately ornate along the rivers edge,
and watching the canal boats drift on by,
as did time.
he in his depth and solitude, pondered
all his steps, wondering which step was wrong or simply,
out of place.
He had lost that which he had placed the
most value, and sadly it beat him down.
Tho' the starlit riviera, of this damp town,
was a quick relief to his aching
heart, which were torn asunder,
from a ill-thought blunder.
Oh well he thinks, as he walks down the lengthy path,
beside the starlit reflective river.

I love you in the spring time,
I love you in the fall,
I love you in every season in between,
whether its the bitter winds of winter,
the scorching heat of summer,
the heralding rains of Autumn,
or the blooming nature of Spring,
I love you in them all,
whether it is the bright blessed light of day,
or the dim lit starry night,
makes no difference to me,
no such things like time, distance,
or circumstance shall defer me,
I am persistent, perhaps tenacious,
when it comes to love.
To stand upon the rooftops,
and let aloud a cry of love,
a bold declaration,
tho' it may be rejected and I shall
fall to my knees in rejections shadow,
but still again I will rise,
for love always finds a way to thrive
similar to a ****.
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter,
these four seasons I shall love you.

A flame of Holy ordination
and ignition, shall not soon
burn out and falter.
This flame though a wick it
surely hath, will not expire,
tho' should you cover it
all its bright light shall fade,
let this light beam boldly
into shadows and all shall
tremble and fear.
This flame of Holy ordination
lit with the softest touch,
grows brighter and fiercer,
tho' not in anger or hate,
but passion, and should
this flame lose that bright passion
then I surely would weep, and
prostrate myself in search of
re-ignition, for this flame is better
for five minutes than darkness eternity
in darkness,
I earnestly seek this flame.

The way things are,
are Ne'er eternally set in slabs
of stone and marble,
for if man wishes,
they might bend and warp
beneath the pressures we
apply.
Ne'er lose hope you young
people, for this is your time,
time to change,
time to reform,
time to knock down,
and rebuild,
be it Love, work,
life itself, ne'er to late.

Hollow, and bitter,
scarring me in more ways than it seems.
my heart aches at the empty words,
"I love you",
I wish, pray, and consult the heavens
that soon they might prove to be true,
but, here I sit in idle wallowing in the sea
of despair and pity.
Only the removal of these empty words,
will enliven me once more and that I might
utter unto you the sincere, heartfelt words,
"I love you",
and mean it, but as for this moment,
nay, I cannot say it without it being deemed
as false.
For they are, Empty words.

Is days beauty disturbed by clouds and rain?
For who truly decides what is beautiful to world?
Only you decide what is beautiful to you,
and not a thing can change that,
for everything in the world has its beauty,
but not everyone is able to see such beauty.

It has me thinking, is a beast ugly to another beast?
Is a woman ugly to all men?
Is a serpent hideous to humans?
Who decides?
Only the people who view them can decide for themselves,
beauty is not like a word in the dictionary with a set definition,
its ever changing, ever present and it is spurred from personality.
You cannot mould beauty to suite your own needs and desires,
you can destroy it!

But who would do such a thing?
Beauty is not the physical part of all things,
it is the emotional and spiritual side of all things also,
the whole is beauty.

They danced into fury,

with twists, and twirls, and the

glint of their silver, the fires of their eyes.

The footing and timing perfect,

they chased, and they followed,

they danced around the floor.

Their wrists fluently moving,

the silver shining in the sun,

they danced with sharpness and

precision around the floor,

kicking up dust,

the crowd lifted into an uproar.

So amused were they as

they danced around the floor.

Anger and passion unleashed in such elegance,

a sight unseen.

They danced with purpose and intent,

they danced closer,

till light could not be seen between them.

They danced far,

they tossed each other across the floor.

Breaking a sweat, after an hour of dancing

they continued until dusk.

Such passion and intent failed to relent until,

one swift, and sudden move,

ended the dance, the shining silver,

ran red,

and one was left to dance another day.

Never before had such a thing been witnessed,

never again should it be, Cries lifted from the spectators.

“Pelagius! Pelagius! Pelagius!” they cried, they cheered.

They threw petals of rose at him, and softly they fell,

and staggered did he with sweat covered feat,

away from the floor, into history.

Let my death not be brought about by the pain,

of elongation, of sickness and disease,

nor the bitterness and cruelty of Nature.

Let my death come of time,

when all else seems of no effect,

in the midst of yells and screams,

Fire and Smoke,

crack and Shot,

in the hot temperament of Sacrifice and Glory,

Let my death unfold like a letter being read,

and my death will be watched,

by people who will stand in awe.

Let My death be not of no use,

Let it serve a true purpose,

let it be with intent,

Let it be of a lesser good,

rather than a greater evil.

I will not die in the solemnity of a hospital room,

Nor in the silence of a cold household room,

I will not die in bitter cold,

For deep down inside,

I know I will die with the warmth of my love for,

my family, my home,

my people, my nation,

My Faith, My Freedom,

My Brothers, My Sisters,

My God, My God.

Expectations unmet,
create a nasty shock,
aim slightly lower.

O’er the hills, in the far eastern valleys vast expanse, there lays the green pastures, on which the shepherds flock does so comfortably feast. Where the knee-high blades bend beneath your hands as you reach down.

Barefoot, you run across the wide, open plains,
the beads morning dew catch on your feet.
As footprints you do leave, trail across the emerald plain.

Small seemingly insignificant dots of flowers,
Red, blue, yellow, a great host of colour, quite the pretty painting it would be. The flowers beds, home to the elegant dances of the flowing butterflies, and the youthful crickets song.

The sapphire sky, with snow white clouds, lingering here and there,
float and drift in timing with the winds whisper, gentle though it were.

As one wanders throughout the Wonderful grasslands, you see the fleet of blades shiver and dance. Final beads of dew do catch the radiant spot of sun, and catches in your eye, a photograph a painting, of a wonderful Elysian Field.

O’er the hill the rampant stampede
and the sound of thundering hooves,
as the mighty men of steel and armour,
hasten their steeds with all passion and eagerness,
to have at the fray in which their fellows are in
deadlock with the enemy.

Following the noble banner as it
twists and bends under the speed
of the horsemen’s noble steeds.
as edging ever nearer to the battlefield.

Then, with a shout of ardent Patriotism,
and the silent but deadly ring of cold steel,
the beating hooves trample,
as the swift sleek movements of the sword
befell the helpless enemy troopers and drones,
sent like sheep into a slaughterhouse,
and hence few shall return unscathed,
for these generals havent the decency for  
diplomacy and discussion,
only to make ****** war.

And should they have cause to panic or fear,
they shall hastily mutter such words as these,
“Send in the cavalry!”,
and with little argument, we shall go,
over the hill in a stampede of
death and glory,
like the Valkyries,
we shall ride,
and hasten the deaths of they,
my generals enemies.

I am their last resort,
I am the cavalry.

Enjoying his view at a glance,
everything from the stillness of the trees,
to the bristling of leaves along the floor,
the variances in cloudy colours and the haste
with which they move.

The Birdsong called from open beak,
carried by faint whisper of the air,
heard both near to and far from his pane.
Slithers of blue like a snake out of place,
make their way around me.

The sound of adolescent class and youthful springs
are heard abundantly as laughter and converse grow
into festering harmony of contemporary sounds.

Notice how they cease to be idle, but only ever moving and
active, move in this and that way, heading
North, South, East, and West with motive and intent,
the teachers bark heard through the wall.

I pray that you note the observer through the pane,
he watches and glances, not in idle captivation, but in
simple observation. He notices their behaviour, their patterns
and movements, their groups and divisions, common attributes
and uncommon, differences in personality, not by sound. Instead,
he listens to the motions of mute lips, and silent movement,
as if it were a ballet, only music is absent from the show.

So vast is this view from the behind the pane,
artwork is created by manmade structures blended with
nature and her beauty. Pleasant are the "random" meetings of
two, in open space, such happenstance.

When in the course of circumstances changing,
the classes mix and intertwine for few moments,
I notice many, the aversions, and the attractions,
what catches eyes, and what defers them.
But come the final ringing of the bell, he
heads for the door only to return again
the next day and do as he did.

The words lost upon the
written page, are nothing
near to the tragedy
of words that once spoken,
dissipate and fade into the air.

The seas are tough,
an eerie calm before a storm onsets,
and the fear and paralysis it possesses,
cripples me, and I suffer the doubt,
that the captain is right.
But lo’ this average day
is turned fully about,
and I stand in glorious
light of day.
That Hope is given to this
the wearied sailor,
and I might rest confident
of his assured skills and
power o’er the seas, and
this my vessel.
He steers me to calmer seas,
and giveth me rest,
taking me down narrow courses
for his names sake.
And tho’ I do sail on bitter seas,
I shall fear not, for his limits
aren’t limited to mine.
You Comfort me.
You giveth me rest,
when I am weary,
you giveth me rest,
when I am stressed,
you giveth me rest,
when I am angry,
you giveth me rest,


You, Giveth me rest.

Push me over,
I shall rise higher,
suppress my rights,
I shall bite harder,
lock me in a corner,
I shall become fiercer,
Run away from me,
I shall chase faster,
try to keep me quiet,
I shall shout louder,
hate me more,
I shall love you more.
make me happy,
I shall be happier,
These are truths,
take them away,
I shall believe them more.

Through the night,
rode the poorest knight,
o’er vale, o’er innocent glade
with thundering and beating heart,
that matched the quickened pace,
of the steeds nimble stride.

Tho’ the stormy gale opposes,
and the might of winters snowy,
blizzard, should keep him at bay,
he rises to the challenge
and crushes them ‘neath his heels,

When at times the spirit is low,
and normally a liquor does restore,
he hastens past the tavern,
to where his mount does drink and eat,
and makes fast the saddle,
in order to make advances on his merry
quest.

When the day he has been riding
for presents itself with fate and circumstance,
at its left and right,
and this poorest knight, tho’ stout of heart,
and a little bit stout of figure,
might be bequeathed with one
small gaze at Her.

He had ridden many miles in many days,
for what purpose he had no knowledge,
although, now that fate has blessed him
with the cause of his lengthy travels, and quest,
he might smile, and become the richest knight,
that other might envy, and wonder at,
indeed this is what did happen.

the village, town, and city,
all were amazed that this poor
nobleman did acquire someone
such as her, whose looks were
stunning at the least, and were
nigh short of some divine providence,
and making.
That when he rode through town,
with her arms wrapped around him,
the down did gawp, and wonder how,
that he did prove them wrong, and
hadn’t a care for their rude gawping
faces.

He and She,
carried on unto the sunset,
whereupon not a soul saw them
again, nor needed to,
they knew where to find them,
they were happy, and needed not to
be bothered by the troubled
villagers, and issues.

The poor knight,
is now living as a king,
though not wealthy of riches,
or prominence, or land,
but of the true happiness,
only love can bring.

A place where the rivers gentle flow
transforms into the monsters mighty roar
bombards the waterbed below.
Giving rise to the gentle mist,
which masks the brutal churning of the
rivers clear and gushing water.
The waters edge around the nigh but brutal fall,
ripples and trembles,
splashing drops upon the rocks.
Yet, with what malice it may seem,
the water falling,
falls not without elegance and grace.
One glorious summers day,
I did sit upon a nearby stone,
and saw the morning sunlight pierce it.
That morning light, crossed with waters mist,
revealed to me the rainbow of seven.
The seven colours seen,
in the nearby wildflowers,
amidst the nearby trees.
I spend so many idle hours,
sitting by that water pool,
admiring the rainbows,
and the deep churning roar.

There are things in the world,

Medicine cannot fix, nor the bitterness of violence,

Such things as the constant sorrow,

Lack of bliss, Lack of love, lack of Life,

Because this world saps from us that which makes us enjoy Life,

And without that which makes it easy for us to enjoy Life,

We die, may not be through spirit or body, but the

Very essence of your being, your heart.

Your love, love of life, joy, friends, family, the simple things.

Tennyson’s, ‘All things must die’ is true enough for

Those with absence of life, but ye who still live, who still struggle,

Here is assistance into finding joy in the struggle,

Laughter.

It cures everything laughter, Suffering and sorrow,
disputes and arguments, bitterness and hatred,

It does what no man made medicine of this modern time can do,

It works faster than most too,

It heals the wounded.

Never be afraid to laugh at the simple things, the jokes,

The clowns, the mistakes, so long as it isn’t at another’s pain.

You should, especially in this day and age, Love to laugh!

I know I do!

Brings a smile to my mouth,

And tears to my eyes.

Love to laugh, I tell you it makes such a difference.

Beneath such grim lit skies, the migrating clouds,

o’er the autumn forest, leaves dancing to the ground.

The grey path, cracked and torn, leaves smothering its face,

red, brown, and yellow, blending together so nicely that it creates an

artwork in itself. Dark grasses litter the pathways flanks,

coursing like a cement river.

Remnants of recent rain caught in the midst of short blades,

catch upon the rough toes and soles of aged leather shoes.

The wind penetrating his tattered jacket, a bag slung over his

shoulder, it being somewhat used and expiring.

His feet neither cheerfully nor sorrowfully scraping the ground.

His eyes catching little of the days light, but the lack of light did not hide

his tears, his lonely life, he wanders the paths of the nations,

walks down the roads into the horizon,

into the sunset and away from the dawn,

he only ever wandered, he led a simple life,

he was not homeless,

but instead quite rich,

he did not like the suits, the jewellery, the houses, and

banquets, the business, he hated them all, the meetings,

the lifestyle, the expectations, he wished them all away to wander

the great expanse the great wilderness of earth, tame and un-tame.

He hated company, he hated humanity,

he hated nature, he hated war, but hated peace, he

hated work but hated laziness,

he loved to be alone in all that he hated.

He loved to wander alone.

Do not stand far off,
casting off bad thoughts and
negative critiques,
when two people are gathered
with romance and love,
you wonder as to why?

‘Why is she with him?
why he’s nothing more than
complete nitwit!’
and then you beg the reason
why is he with she?
‘Why she’s neither beautiful,
nor smart!’
without the heart,
to gain the closer look.

Ay, they may not seem
to bright, polite, or beams
of sunlight,
but here we are,
we stand and judge from afar,
without so much a wish
or will, to go and
have a closer look.

They hug and smile,
and you wonder why?
because unlike you, they
look not for just look,
intellect or past,
but instead to the contents
of their hearts.