Forest burning down at night,
A halting captivating site.
Woody survivors count their toes,
Inbetween the amber glows.

How do you turn off love?
How can you make it so?
I still ask for this answer above,
While i sleep where the cold winds blow.

For you never broke my overwhelmed heart,
It was well and truly shattered.
See, the void cant be filled in the dark,
No mass can compare; the memories scattered.

I begged God, long ago, many years,
To send me an angel so true.
Its the reason i cry all these tears,
As he sent me my soulmate in you!

Sometimes it feels like a dream,
Did it happen? a lifetime ago?
We made such a beautiful team,
I still cant believe that its so.

For i am now  just a wondering soul,
When were gone, will our love still exist?
We forged a diamond out of lacklustre coal,
And 13 Peregrine road was the catalyst.

I am the last lone passenger of the night,

My heart is dark, yet dark is darker still.

You will not remember me, as morning tremble wakes and changes into sight,

My tainted shape and form disguised by mighty nocturnal shadow just until.

Illuminated by the paler rays of furthest father moon,

In quickened beat of step I now distress.

And intend to silly race the waking golden rays come too soon,

My reward is raging amber light in break of day, but absent friend I must confess.

My tired hiding soul can never reach its fill of wandering darkened wanton way,

It took me years but after many endless tears I finally grasped,

My soul enchained, a constant prisoner to the day.

What will become of me?
Where will i go?
When the high hill paths are closed to me,
Escape, blocked in with snow.

Shall i now live in barren tundra?
And wait for new spring thaws.
Or anticipate the thunder,
So board up all my doors.

To risk the high hill paths,
At this late time of year.
Or barricade myself in thoughts,
Squalid solitude; and fear.

See one path leads to heaven,
And one leads straight to hell.
Do you know what will become of me?
I Promise i wont tell.

There must be rain and lots of rain,
Enough to fill the river Seine.
Till Mrs Frog and Mr Toad,
Will choose to risk the night again.

See, Mrs frog is kind of queer,
She sits the same spot most of year.
Amphibifun! An avid leaper,
But home again when daylight near.

Then Mr toad, a grumpy winner,
An eagle eyed reptilian sinner.
He hates the rain and lost a leg,
When something fancied him for dinner!.

But on that rare and lucky night,
When circumstance and weather right.
These loyal suitors meet at last,
As Cupid’s spell is at its height.

Five years have past, they’re still together,
Meeting frequent, sometimes never.
But neither gives up on the other,
Not storm, not tide, nor any weather.

What loyalty? What love? What deeds?,
Take place amongst those silent reeds.
Frog and Toad; he hates the rain!
But love and patience still exceeds.

When old age takes you, years hence, moves, misshapes and betwixt you into mortal parts,
Where once lost memories and thoughts, take centre stage and regret, like famished rodents, gnaw upon your withered heart.
The bodied cage, worn out, divided over many leagues and years,
Time is shorter than a happy smile, so do not waste it with your tears.
  
The mind is frail, yet time and exit frailer still,
Condemned to lonely wonder on that high precipice of early dawn and sky lark shrill.
Regrets prove plenty, akin to timeless grains of sand,
left strewn across the salty shore, which cause abrasive sores both in spirit and in humble man.

The mind again, yes that oldest tempest foe,
Who tries to cheat you of your common wits.
The blind man sees which way to go,
The liars tongue is made of gold, the wise man thinks but never sits.

You search, yet fumble all the same, time and anguished time again, through nameless worn out keys,
To invisible shackles, which are as boundless as the raging seas.
Those spellbound, never ending fetters, ***** and chains,
Like endless seasons dance upon, and tread beneath untrodden moss of natures rains.

You MUST! Leave at once, and elevate your tired being, BEYOND! The confines of our fragile mind,
Free yourself, unbind regrets, mistakes and worries, and leave old burdens far behind.
Or else risk damnation and eternal loss, the final mystery unravelled,
Abandon all you seek of yesterday, and set upon that road less travelled.

We are all but struggling insects, crawling on the face of God entire,
Until that fateful day, at final close of stormy play, we all succumb, relief and vigorous delights await.
To gentle lay and leave our mortal coil upon the wire,
Our aching soul, abandoned, to the wingless, shrouded, hands of wicked fate.

A breath, a whistle on the wind spelt their fate,
From Thudding factories they came of iron, copper steel and slate.
This time to huff and puff in the face of a different wind, blowing in from the continent.
their hearts like lions pride, though ragged trousers and mine born bent.

No names ,no land nor favours here,
though folk back home might find it queer.
Imagination confined, never exposed,
To the acts and esprit of those forgotten heroes.