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WildLander Nov 2019
Eyes closed, sleeping.
Searching seeking.
Escape reality
To see what is to be.
Pain, destruction, all to come.
A mother's touch, a gentle humming,
Around the consciousness is thrumming
Answers, prayers, just out of reach
Peace, treaties, they beseech.
The lone black wolf stands, head turned away
It might just stand, or attack it may.
A single white dove alights on the ground,
Dry leaves scatter, but yet there's no sound
A kindred spirit, palm out stretched,
To help a man whom he detests.
Stone cold eyes hold no surprise
He's resigned himself to his own demise.
A familiar face,
A familiar place,
The lights come on, blood, all over the place.
A soft warm smile as he comes near,
He wipes away a single tear.
He takes your hand, to place a knife
One to take your very own life.
You plead for him to love and stay.
He slowly turns and walks away.
The floor boards creak under foot,
The lights flicker, flicker, then go out.
Through the darkness, a single cry
The sound of one not afraid to die.
A white wolf sits with unblinking stare
Is it a welcome? Or simply a dare?
Hand reached out, you attempt to draw near.
The white wolf sits, it can smell your fear.
A pitch black crow pecks at the skull,
The eye sockets lifeless, the toothy smile dull.
A raven lands above his bed,
Gold tipped black feather drifts down to his head.
His eyes fly open, no sound, scream or shout
The sun comes up and the dream winks out.
This poem is a strange collection of symbols that has been written in the form a dream. I wrote it in a way that it is open for interpretation and meaning can be imposed on it in various ways by those that read it
13 May 2014
Fortissimo -A
The great fall,
into eerie suffocating darkness
piano pianissimo
leaving smiles on faces inverted,
frozen tears that never rolled down.
The menacing overture
grim and heavy,
crushing fortitude, grief and joy
clawing each other out,
lucidly.

Agitato -B
The angst builds,
wrenching the mind from its rational gaze
chromatic disorder seeps in,
another descent begins.
Agitation bleeds
into rivers of melancholy
flowing fervently to the ******
where famished ears await
the soulful drop of anticipation and girth.
Seduction, no heart could withstand
submission, no slave would surrender.

Coda -A*
Returning to where it began,
the exposition of extremes
a collapsing sky, a violent dream.
At the edge of belief,
madness is melody
poignantly orchestrated.
Fingers that questioned doom
have retorted swiftly.
The closing is at hand;
it ends quietly.
Morceaux de fantaisie (MDCCCXCII)
*Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 3, No. 2.*
Posted on October 25, 2013

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