She was like a fox;

Shrewd,
a cunning look in her eyes.
Never malicious, but always quiet.
She avoided attention,
while her flaming hair never agreed.
She grinned, but was careful
not to show her gaiety.

She was like a fox;

A chaste huntress in plain sight.

The sky was covered by a blanket of violet dusk,
the only illumination coming from the tall, eerie lampposts.
I strolled, slowly, aware of my surroundings.
My feet dragged satisfyingly
on the sidewalk.
It was time that I follow the moon,
she would lead me
to where I need to be.

you are so delicate,
so pure
and brilliant,
i can't help but look at your smile
and think of
silver lace.

Humans nowadays,
they know not to cherish
simplicity,
caring only of more,
more,
more!
But how much
extravagance
can one have
before it's too much?

To be a sinner
or a saint,
it's a picture
they paint.

They scare us
into submission,
it's not much
of our decision.

It doesn't matter though,
we're all the same,
we are all greedy
and seek riches and fame.

The folk tales say
that on the sapphire sea
the wind would roar
to the melody
of the siren's song.

The folk tales say
that the sailors were so enamoured
with the music of the seacreatures
that they jumped overboard to join them.

The folk tales say
that the sailors were hypnotized;
in reality, the sea drove them mad
and they dived to their demise.

Every line the pencil creates,
a sharp turn or a thick stripe of lead
seeping into parchment
will create something beautiful.

I shall let this liquor
smite the doubt
kindled in my body.

I fell in love
just as you fell from Heaven;
I never wanted to fall,
and neither did you.
But here I am,
smitten,
and there's not much
I can do.

The air is smokey
my eyes water,
my mouth is dry.

The air is smokey,
I find it hard to breathe,
it's too familiar,
like the symptoms of anxiety.

I once knew a man, he was wealthy,
he had taste and class.
He might as well have worked for an auction,
because every time he stole someone's soul
in return for a favour, he exclaimed
"Sold!"

His name, you ask?

Lucifer. I'm sure you've encountered him.

Drink your whiskey till you take your last breath,
for there is no drinkin' after death.
All the wounded men will shout and cry,
amongst all the dead men, let him lie.
May the king live well in his wealth,
and may he bid us forever lasting health.
Drink, drink, drink till you're down,
and may the rightful king wear the crown!

You threatened me,
you said you'd rip out my heart,
but you'll be devastated to hear
that I'm sure I don't have one.

Within the debris,
there was the ring;
the rusty, silver ring
that held the story
of a broken oath.

An unlikely pair,
a ***** scent at the nape of your neck
as I pull you into an embrace;
you smell of spearmint and oranges.

you smell like a witch's storage,
a pantry of spice;
rosemary, basil,
turmeric, corriander.
the smell,
it's spice.

Once it has lived
a fulfilling life,
the spider plant let's it's children
hang elegant from her arms.
They don't let go,
never,
until someone takes her children
from her.

when you were used to loneliness,
he was right behind you,
a winged man who caught you.

My perspective on the world,
it has become tainted
over the years.
The colours swapped places,
tricking my mind,
it seems psychosomatic.
I open my eyes,
scared of what I might see;
it's not too bad, I suppose.
My iris' are now
windows of stained glass
as I gaze upon the world.

I tried to explore
what was beyond this world.
I made tracks
made only of wax.
Steps and steps
made of wax, not wicks.
Alas, it was all in vain,
destroyed not by wind or rain.
As I got close to the sky,
I swear I could fly,
until the sun melted my path;
it was the repeated aftermath.

My wooden guitar,
it's rather bland,
so I'll paint a picture
of the stars.

Sometimes I'd like to float down a stream
and ignore what is causing me pain.

The old floor creaks
as the people dance drunken shimmies
while they laugh mindlessly;
it's a shame, really.

They come to forget,
to drown their sorrows in mead, beer or wine
and seek relief;
Alas,
they forget the pleasure
as they dance into the night,
indulge in a forbidden chaste kiss,
it all perished from one's memory,
but not their reality.

you're far too sweet;
it makes me sick.

The longest day of the year,
can I handle it?
Will I survive,
decaying in reality,
for so long?

The clouds look like pigmented smoke,
magenta, navy, cyan and wine,
twilight is near and brisk breezes
bite my skin harshly.
And yet, my feet stay rooted in the field
cluttered with sunflowers that look to the sky,
their petals drifting in the wind,
creating a breathtaking contrast as they dance
among the stars.

I surrendered
my mind,
my body,
my soul
to you
only to have you
break me.

I seldom swear
on anybody's name,
but never in vain,
as I cry to know,
for somebody's sake,
where are you?

I was always so engaged,
curious to see what my fingertips could create,
what litterature my mind thought of.
I sat, brooding over the words to come.
He addressed me with a grin
and told me I needed to hide from the world
to explore my imagination.
Handing me his sweater,
I held it over my head,
writing my heart out
as my imagination soared.

Your voice is smooth,
an angelic rumble of laughter,
a serenade of sweet nothings.

I don't know what to call this
sensation,
your voice like running water,
it must be an aphrodisiac.

I love,
I absolutely adore
staring into your eyes.
Oh, how those hues
of blue and green
capture the sweet spring sunlight
so majestically.

using but only a sword and daggers
in a battle of rifles and muskets
would be naught but suicide.

My dear, my friends, countrymen!
Lend me your ears and take my word as gospel;
the soldiers come in blood-stained tunics and armour of leather, they come to fight on the plains if we engage-
we shan't sacrifice all these men, no!
Pay the ransom in silver and gold, let it not become sultry!

Let me, love,
allow me to remove your cold facade
so that we may engage
in a dance, a symphony
of carnal pleasure.

Pendant que je joue le mandoline, les flames brûles humblement.
C’est la nuit; hélas, je ne voit pas le soleil. Mais on voit les étoiles !
On peut voir de la fumée, mais pourquoi? On gèle !
Est-ce que ça se peut que c’est toi qui fume une cigarette pure
Pendant que tu admires les étoiles; pendant que tu admires la lune gibbeuse ?
Et toi, mademoiselle ! Aimes-tu la musique de mon mandoline fière ?
Ou peut-être vous-êtes une femme qui préfère le son d’une lyre…
Ah, bon. Je’n sais pas jouer la lyre, mais peut-être t’aimes chanter ?  
Non, non, non ! Tu me dis. Mais pourquoi ?  Vous-êtes une dame pointilleuse. Mais peut-être t’aime la poésie ? Je sais raconter des histoires !
Oui, oui, oui ! Tu me dis. Parfait, je te raconte l’histoire de ma vie.
C’est une oeuvre, je le sais. Mais tu deviennes langoureuse, vous êtes endormi.
Ah, je le comprends. C’est ****, ouais ?  Très ****, je le sens, mais je’n bu pas !
Mais désolé, je joue encore mon mandoline, mon mandoline en acajou.
Et le bois du foyer n’est presque pas là, je voit seulement de la cendre.
Mais c’est ****, c’est très ****.
Donc je souffle les bougies,
Et je vous souhaite une bonne nuit.

I'm a tad too late
for one thing,
and time goes by fast
when you're older,
wiser,
and while I don't have much time,
I'm not too late
for the other.

I wear my scars like tattoos,
dead skin etched into my arm;
O, please know!
These are signs of pain turned to wisdom!
An exquisite display of an oath, a sword placed on both my shoulders as I am rewarded Grace for my sacrifice-
One cicatrice on my knee
from falling off of my red bicycle;
the other from crawling, climbing out of the utter Hell
that I suffered.

The smell of brewed herbs
and the hot metal
of the kettle
is strong in the room.

We drink,
we speak,
and we let our deepest secrets
spill out of our lips
like poison.

An evolution of technology
has created a source of history,
information, questions
at your fingertips.

When technology and machines
begin to perish
will we thrive,
or suffer technical difficulties?

you're gone now,
but it wasn't a waste of time.
thank you, truly,
for the love you offered me.

One plays the acoustic
with the potential of a genius,
writing lyrics
as thoughtful as himself,
but he is blind
to his magnificence.

I had never felt
the firm grip of a bow,
the wispy shot of an arrow.

One eye closed in a focused wink,
I targeted the blood-red target,
my fingers pulling the arrow
with unknown precision.

It shot the red eye
the first time,
and it was then I knew
that in my past life,
I was an archer.

He wore the finest leather gloves,
held a hammer of steel,
sported dead eyes.
He had witnessed countless deaths,
far too many,
caused by the very weapons
he crafted blindly.