My toes are frozen, my fingers are pale
And my lips are purple and blue, purple and blue
The cold shrouds me in an icy veil
And the sky has no colour, not a single hue
The wind howls with its darkest fury
And the trees are swaying with gaining fervour
The splattering hail makes the windows blurry
And the darkness prevails, no longer obscure
I stand at the heart of this bitter storm
Waiting for it to sweep me away
To wipe my thoughts just as they form
To the Land of Death, this is my gateway
So consume me, within, without
Burn me, with your frigid rage
I am a madman without a doubt
Who's been left too long inside a cage
With one last laugh, I look at the sky
Up and away, I watch my soul fly

"He's either a madman or a poet."

"Can't I be both?"

"You already are."

Circles of chalk mend thy breakage
Follow the whisper to know end
Propose a query that might find no answer
Choose to follow that path of the madman send
Silent they wake with their ears tipped slight
Shake the feathers off your shoulders
Wrap tight in hand the skeletal kite
Flight is not with a heavy heart;
But with those who choose to jump first

https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/Quest-ionic--a-reading-aloud-e2hncq

that links begins at the oldest of my poems here, which are nearing
the point of no return, maybe only because people cant tell me that hate them here, but more likely,
because some of of ya'll liked 'em writ, ye might like 'em said.