Veil hangs over lilac fields,
      blessed are these still waters

There once was a poet from Crewe
who'd down at the pub had a few
he couldn't write a sonnet
though his life depended on it
So in the end he wrote a haiku.

Fahnd 'im lyin' int middle o' t'street
bruised an' battered from t'tramplin' feet.
Ee'd crawled aht from some gutter
an' them cries tha' ee did utter
almost like a knife through butter
cut mi quick an' deep.

'Is broken wings ah tried to treat
gently praying that ee'd be reyt.
But when 'is cry became a stutter
t'world rolled dahn its shutters
an' rahnd mi someone muttered:
" 'is prospects ain't 'alf bleak".

An' that poor lost little 'eap
ah cradled but coun't weep,
til mi arms discerned a flutter.
So in mi chest ee'll see the summer
from that 'ollow haven like no other
where ee can safely sleep.

I have walked among the clouds, and wept with them.

I think we pray when we say
that sweet word "tomorrow"
that in a way we betray
our fear of greater sorrow
That we play monk and we play lover
in the hope that we'll see colour
rather than replay the grey
when we say "tomorrow"

And as we lay in the haze
of all that we don't know
perhaps we'll praise this great ballet
of what must surely follow
Or we may curse and we may rage
as we take unto the stage
as we dance away the day
when we say "tomorrow"

It's not the game
we think we play
there are no winners
no losers
life is not
something we do
it's what we are
immeasurably complex
heartachingly simple
tiny spools of life
threads of time
woven together
so tight
that sometimes we feel
indestructible
our rough ends left
floating in the open
reach out
to join the web
adrift upon infinity's breath
sparks within the current
occasionally we unravel

When I'm gone
don't shut me in some lightless box
with a pillow for my head
I won't be sleeping long

And leave the flowers be!
They're far more beautiful
when they're not torn up
and strewn all over me

Don't lock me in the waiting room -
it's full of people I don't know
and then we'll both be lonely
when you can't come back soon

When I'm gone
burn your grief away with me
so all that's left is joyous love
and the fire to carry on

Then free as air my soul will roam
delighting in the stars,
each blade of grass, each cloudy day
all earth and heaven my home

But should you ever pause in fondest memory
and whisper: "would that you were here"
well then of course I'll head straight over
so we can sit and we can be

There is no sweeter
kiss than that of dawn upon
my dream-tossed eyelids

Ever more will I weave daisy chains from your laughter.

The waves begin to growl
there's a quickening of the air
temptation bubbles to the surface
destruction and dominion too close to ignore.
Conceived in fury and shaped by desire
the birth of monsters from deepest nowhere
snarling to the beat of thunder.
Four thousand hooves of one thousand horses
the cavalry galloping, relentless, toward the shore
rear their great maned heads with a fearsome cry
then fall
breaking themselves against that jagged shore.
Behind them Power howls and roars
revelling in itself
as the battle wears on.
Now its might's remembered
the rage begins to pass
and oh so gently it enters
come to collect its dead
sweeping them back home to the depths.
Keep your forgiveness
save it for the days to come
they never flinched
they asked for none.
If ever there was peace before, then this is what comes after:
                  this is the desolate calm
                  that follows a sea-storm.

Black is the house of the great unknown
it is the absence of all light
its footmen creep to bathe in secrets
stretching their limbs as evening turns to night.
Black is the harrier of the loneliest souls
it is a hardening of the heart
it is the fears buried deepest
After all, you can't see shadows for the dark.

Night is when the darkness reigns
cloaking the world in sable
Night is when the balance shifts
to keep the cosmos stable
Night is when red foxtrot trots
to caper in the quiet
Night is when life lights itself
Sparks of murmur and of fire
Night is when new hunters stir
with hunger in their orb-like eyes
Night is when sweet nightingale
serenades the owl wise
Night is when she holds a candle to the window
the better to carry on
Night is when he locks the door behind
the sooner to be gone
Night is when heroes fill the sky
and angels walk among the sleeping
Night is when the echoes of day
replay and take on deeper meaning
Night is when the mind is free
to wander wordless realms anew
Night is when black is not black
but a hundred shades of blue.