It is silence that troubles me most.
Discord second, silence first.
For in silence, I sense but a ghost
Of impressions from my host.

I'm a nightmare, haunting dreams
Though for those that look through seams,
They who play their mind's best strings,
I am sweet and quite revealing - so it seems.

And as discord, as a non-melodic chime
I commit the only timeless crime
I confuse the heart in ways sublime
And through chaos do I claim it mine.

Thus they rightly think - so I suppose
T'would be folly to otherwise propose.
But as one who writes in verse and prose
I'll accept neither of those.

So am I troubled when my greatest machinations
Cause at most just senseless trepidations
When I fail to stir the minds of nations
Do I fail through my creations?

From such things come silence and discord,
Two most ugly beasts who act only of their own accord.
Though heart-heavy, I afford:
They are beautiful text-poured.

I've been floating
for a while.

It's been nice 'till now, (I think),
but they want to steal my smile.

Not that they'd have much to take -
I don't smile all that often -
but I'm happy as it is.

Oh.

I've been sinking
for a while,
have I not?

I'm still having fun, (I think),
even though those faces vile
stole
my most heartfelt and beloved smile.

Not that they had much to take -
I didn't smile all that often, but -
I was happy when I did.

Oh.

I've been at the bottom
for too long,
no doubt.

It's no longer fun, (I know),
since they've taken all I had.
Not that I had much to give -
Can't remember what I lost -
I'm so silly, I've forgotten.
I'm so silly that I smile,
even though I've sunk.

Oh -

I've been floating
for a while.

"Awake, my darling;
Open your eyes.
The light that marred the sky this morning?
Gone; met its demise.

But you and I remain,
With us the moon.
Oh - I talk with you in vain this early,
And you might wake up too soon.

For you and I are but the same
And I should wish for you to sleep much longer
If my self is to stay sane,
And if yours is to grow stronger.

Who's to say man's not a beast,
But some sort of rambling fool?
I shall tell you, at the least
That my nature is quite cruel.

Or your nature, better said;
When you'll rise this evening
From your cold and frozen bed
Pick a flower as your prize.

For when morning breaks
And I'll awake atop the tower
With this body, heavy from aches
I should like to hold a flower.

It'd stop then my surprise
At the numerous, heartrending,
Desperate, shallow cries
All accusing me for the ending of their worthless, empty lives."

As they all broke out in laughter
Did he swear to come for them, thereafter;
And they all laughed even harder
At his dark and saddened face.

So, disgracefully he disappeared
And as the next night ever neared
He set out, his gaze quite leer
Well-prepared and without fear.

Though they laughed at him once more
They could not laugh quite as before
And they all laughed even less
Being faced with his success.

Thus he dreamed, at least,
While he raged on, as a beast;
"Lighten up", said then the priest,
"'Tis but a joke, played out always at our feast."

In the soft and slender shadows
Lays a shape, that of a ghost.
With its voice, piercing as arrows
It calls for me; I am the host
Of the hellish moon-lit trance

In which we
ever so vaguely
Dance.

Oh, the taste of sweet surrender;
That is what I love the most!
As light spews forth from the ember -
Does it roar out in a boast? -
It just fills the room

In a manner
ever so vaguely
Tender.

And the ghost politely bows
Giving an apologetic sigh
For its rudeness just now
As it's too late to deny

That it
shall be leaving
(ever so vaguely)
soon.

Such a jest, but of the mind
Happens often in the quill.
I shall try to say this in a manner kind
But you'll find it quite harsh still

That we
should be
(ever so vaguely)
worthy of disdain
for this game we play endlessly in vain.

''What was once is now forgotten
What remains becomes downtrodden'',
Said the elder with his deathly gloom.
As if he, prophet of doom,
Had the right and knowledge
To proclaim such things; certainty came from his cottage.

Thus I questioned "What therein doth make you sure?
What such ghastly being have you seen that doth carry death's allure?"
"Poverty, my child, it shall see us all entombed.
Where was once enough for many
is there now enough for few;
We will put down every penny,
Time and time, we'll start anew
'till the day comes when
Where was once enough for few
Will be nay enough for any.
This will be the end of days
For our ancient, dying brood."

As he finishes thus saying
The old man in wise attire
starts towards his cottage treading
By now, he's sure to be quite tired.