Two lovesick wood ducks,
On a large, blue lake alone;
Till darkness separates!

Spilt upon the breathing tide
The shadows of our former pride
Stained with gilded, rusty gore

Songs upon the breeze still scream
From barren bog and skylit sea
Once were sung but nevermore

Clouds cry crimson in the lake
The moons and stars the sky forsakes
As darkness falls on ****** shores

I've been on the run for 500 years.
I carved a map on my back
of all the places I've been.
It's made up of all the old stars from my eyes
that no longer have meaning to me.

What a shame you couldn't have come with me.

The trees stand taller than the mountains,
growing up into the skies to touch the clouds.
The lady in the lake that pushed and pulled the boats
was a lovely savage.
These lands had no end.

I meet a man that lived on the clouds.
He told me the story of how he invented the stars
and how he cried the rain.
I never did run from the rain again.

I listened to the wind's whisper,
so low only for my ears to hear.
They told me to paint flowers for you.

So I took myself and found your stone.
Quiet, cold, and ever so selfishly was this sight to see for me.

I'm sorry your last breath was wasted on my name.
I have lost you to greed.
I wanted to travel forever with you,
but your state of body did not agree.
I took you from your saver and your bed,
and now I walk a thousand miles on my own.

I look for you every time the sun
falls down,
but knowing I'm lost in the moon's glow.

I would give all for you
to be here with me.
Winning isn't all that fun in
the end,
but now the game is over
and I stand lone a victor.

I painted you a garden of the most beautiful roses.
It's such a shame you'll never be able to see them.

a bastion
of position
to fend
rife that
any captor
courts acrimony
here that's
really offensive
that ruptures
passage to
the next
realm in
this savanna
with bedspread
if interstellar
jar was
thunder road

under the lake we were we
under the lake we sang about
than we then sang we sang we
what were we talking about then
what were we talking about then about
what were we then and when

under the lake shining where all around
flowers alone flowers and roses and moons on meadows
about the circle about where the
lake is where the lake is in the wilderness
about what we sang with you about what we were
about what we sang with you about what we went about

18.09.18

Scorching was the color of toil,
As my feet carried me to and fro
And my hands carried the weight of service,
And my heart begging to be let go.

Alas, through the doors, a drifting breeze,
Filled with aromas, never before known,
And the cool colors of misty blues,
Instantly to her, all eyes were sewn.

I was greeted with the brightest smile,
Colors of a warm sunny hue,
But mystery shrouded her rosey cheeks,
A girl like her takes a table for two.

Yet there she sat, her company a book,
Although her eyes wandered often astray,
Most often at times, meeting mine in passing,
Lonely, they seemed to ask me to stay.

The words I wished I had spoken were left,
As a language conveyed through gestures,
And before I knew she was floating away,
Reminiscent of a distant messenger.

My eyes followed her step by step,
Off to the distant lapping of waves.
Shyly she joined, her soles with the water
She became one of the gifts God gave.

As I watched her blossom under the summer sky
Those deep colored eyes turned to me,
They said that she had no needs any longer,
And I seemed to know we would never be.

And she danced with the waves,
And the waves danced at her feet,

And she played in the sun,
And the sun played with her hair,

And her hair framed her face,
As the delicate portrait of nature’s beauty.

the strongest thunder in the street
and in all the lakes today
today it was reflected
reflected and sparkled
and range all the limits
and the stars fell off
and there was no sun
autumn has come

07.09.18

I  Travelled the weary tribes of willow,
mellow the climes of  starry up above fellow;
the waning grace shined with  no diffidence,
well oh well the white berry ripes in confidence

Follow the path which goes to the lake of the wild,
One I spend as a child, some thousand nights
staring at the Argos with starry eyes,
painted and clothed by the skies
of thousand nights with pearly whites,
soul tainted and clotted, one cries
and dies for the beauty is of no mild