The time comes!
Whispers from seashells
Claim much to be done.
Already the shadows seem tall.
Darkness grows bold
The Sun falls old,
Tired by the sight of all.

And as the watcher slumbers
Stars peek around the curtains
Once drawn tight by the light of day.
Their time to shine and show mankind the way.
But mans gaze is glazed, eyes distant, far away.

Sweet Lady of the Lake
I never see your face.
For your gaze is cast away in part
By the light of my mistakes.
Whatever it may take,
I'll fight the hands of fate
To go back to that place and time
Where I could almost call you mine.

I never saw the signs.
A fault in my design.
A problem with my mind divides
The truth timesed by denial.
So sweet lady of the lake
Will i ever see your face?
Will i ever see you smile?

There shall be no shelter
From shadowed hypocrisy.
For the stars shine bright and just
That all the mortal men may see.
All that you wish.
All that you believe.
Are just two diverging branches
From the same forgotten tree.

Rotten with the cynicism of age
The bark chips fast,
Squalid lackluster page.
Built upon the decay of rage
Fallow thoughts they plough the land.
Reaped by those deemed unworthy.
Truth uprooted by savage hand.

He lived his life on water,
Coming and going with the tide.
Caught in a clockwork rhythm.
Bottle of *** close by his side.

Sailing far toward the northern star,
The wind lashed sails bare his stride.
The gale fails, Neptune's breath subsides.
Veiled pride confides in an ocean's memoir.

A choir of crestfallen waves,
Lay dormant at his side,
Prepared to pave the path of secrets,
With untold misery and lies.
A choice to make, a course to take
Coordinates only he could decide.

With a sigh he held the helm,
Turned her steadily back to port.
Sailing back toward that beaten track,
To the town where his child was born.

Flashes of long lost decadence
Clothed in shabby cloaks of misdemeanor.
Windswept nostalgia, stayed and sleeved
By the breeze that haunts a forests tree.

Leave it be, the wind said to me.
Let the leaves be leaves,  
Let the trees be trees,
For their roots run deep,
Far deeper than you may perceive.

April showers on the hair of fools.
The lost and the forsaken,
The blind and worthy too.
Sodden to the bone bleached
Follicles of folly.
Spring feints and fakes,
Flash of sun, lone melancholy.
Forgotten light is left to linger
Behind a promenade of clouds,
Veiled in the shroud of a harsh midwinter.