A Drunken King wept over self-created sins In his unglamorous life The corrupt Wedding saddened The thousand year-old Trees Burdened by the Cynical Winds Where Shy Priests Doubted Their edict’s worth That they copied all their lives
The Mature ****** dreamed of lush meadows Painted and imagined by the Quiet Madman Where the Illiterates Cursed aloud At their colourful tears That no one could decipher nor understand As Panting Stars Spoke Of their daring homecoming
Scattered Women were venturing out at last Unashamed to defy fear and threats from within And Lovers awoke to their hypocrisy Amidst Family Smiles And the routinization of boredom As Beggars of Humanity pleaded Quietly For Mercy And no more abstractions
Distant Stars were swayed by Heavens Troubled, once more, by us. The Shining Hope shivers its warning for all hearts To feel for themselves In punishments they mentioned too often Only for the Poor, the Lame and the Meek
In Unruly Nights soured in veiled darknesses By the Anger of the Dying Such crimes of the past were recalled By the minds of the Cold Ones still ruling over you; You Inheritors of a unique and particular grief Where Colourless Eyes stare At your simple And Unanswered Passions Yet, the pained and Insecure Citizen begs the Starry Night to inspire Fearing your Frightened ‘Self’ You search all the other Selves As a Conversation is repeated again In your evenings of darkening anxiety The gates of weariness burn As I fear to tell and speak and relate any longer.