Atop the tor with ancient horn
Blows bardic spirit newly born
With magic emblazoned on their tongue
A descant begging to be sung
Through the saccharine morn

This is the song. The babes rejoice
To hear the magical ludic voice
They sway, and clap, and swing their heads
As bard goes round them with gentle treads

The music paints their passion red
Alight! For cosmic sense is said
The flame of love be theirs to behold
A treasure that can't be bartered, sold
That brings life back to the dead

Midst wizened trees the ancient word
Blows through ears that strive to have heard
The magic medley of the land
The stirring Spring gestates her garland
Dribbling music to the bards

We are the bards. Long time ago
We dwelled and swelled in Nature's glow
We lived, felt Love, but now we go
Searching for rainbow, to and fro

Our path takes us high and low
To truth, which raptures us in throe
The torch of truth be ours to hold
In streams of dreams and fires of gold
Sat brooding in desire and woe

Leaves' dancing shadows on the piece of sun
missing the keen eyes
rebound on the vacant space.

The man played with shadows
weaving them into whimsy shapes
before most of them were pulps of paper
gone into the bin of night.

If not for light
would be no shadows
he was always churning in his mind
probing dark holes of moon
going into shady nooks
seeking playfully alive shadows.

The dead casts no shadows
he brooded
on the space he would leave

but he wished
they had
when he wasn't around.

She tosses.
She turns.
Restlessness comes with perspiration.
A rather peculiar presence in the room.

The sheets creases more,
They turn damp from her sweat.
Fingers clench them in grips.
And an helpless moan from her lips.

A cold touch she felt on her shin
Eyes fly open.
Gasping and jumping awake.
There across the room was the problem.

The wraith shrouded in the darkness
Skull face as eerie as ever
Eyes like two burning orbs
His pasted sinister smile fixed on her.

With an outstretched hand,
He beckons with a skeletal finger-
It's time!

Each night I die a little more,
Each day I wake alone as b4.

Between day and night, choose fight or flight, hide out of sight, shield from the light.

Cocooned in our beds, words trapped in our heads, a poets mind is forming, ideas begin their swarming.

Not conforming
              Lines deforming
                        Minds contorting
                                       Rhymes consorting.

My Cupid's absence saw another bloom,
Scene reviews of praise, richly gathered.
Defer your attribute with golden plume,
And dearest phrase is by all wit shatter'd.
I think nice aims while his aim reassures,
And like untutored youths we pipe Amen!
To ev'ry hymn. The ardor needs be yours
In shiny form of fine discriminating pen.
Hearing you praised, I say it is very true,
To your praise I would add much more:
But do so in my head, as thou loves you,
Such it is, final, for he holds rank before.
Then others for sake of words give relief,
My silent thoughts do still speak to grief.

When eyes must hear
And
When eras must see

Blue O     Green U    Red I    White E    Black A

They didn't listen when I said I was tired
I said that being different was hard
Because my jeans  don't fit right
My actual genes weren't right

And so I came out in comparison to everything
Already didn't have a father to teach me
The skies will cry if he ever tries to reach me
Not knowing who to trust was something girls my age don't worry about

They're far too happy living oblivious
And I question myself off of this-
How do they possibly not know
That they are all the same person?


Same gloss on smooth Pink lips
Smiling a shark smile that they do like kindness
And they name the rainbow by shades of eyeshadow- as if there wasn't enough color

   Girls like that are happy with the same person for a week
And yet I cannot be happy with myself for a day
Then they switch partners because "Don't  worry he's sooo cute!"
  
  I wonder if they are happier naive
And how hard it will be for them when they realize how the skies are actually smokey black
And they've been looking up through perfect eyelashes- but beauty doesn't last

   It must be nice always being average
With a cover girl to cover you sitting next to you
And manicured nails to scratch your way through life