and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks

There're swords,
lots of them,
and long-bows,
with fresh, eager arrows
jostle with notched expert axes;

legendary hair frame braided beards
flowing into refilled tankards
drowning curses through broken teeth
gnawing at poor personal hygiene
across the stench of the public tavern
as granite-stares challenge
bone-shattering laughter.
-
All as anticipated -
there's Orcs about
and the prescribed heroes assemble.
-
-
Slow rolling leaden mist cloaks howling creatures at dawn
from deep within the forest,
then disabling rain falls at dusk
and steel clashes with steel in the storm…
-
All these exploits ferment short of full strength
and stretch onto a wide Winter screen
before facing the final critical battle
for a 12A Christmas.

the ring that ruled
before dawn and day,
o'er summer & an old sun
with its shafts of remebrance;

shall it remain in middle-earth
and the Dark Lord will feed upon all that is green;
shall it become fire from the mountain
and fair lairs will tremble with the wind of age.

but what is to be must be;
all we have left is what we always had:
the power of a single day that is given to us -
one road to fulfill, to live, and to love.

The affairs of humans I find amusing
and I keep a dragon entwined about
my thumb to do my bidding
let the blood fall like rain and
burn the bodies as kindling
ashes
let their glare and the fogs of war
abolish the very sun.
listen for the sound of hunger in the silence
of my approach
cower in the shade of shades
let the fiery blaze of your hopes be eclipsed
at the sight of the sightless void that is me
for only then will I halt
only then will I lift my blood-wet mouth
and then shall I howell the futility-
of my nothingness.
for then I will see where I stand
in the necropolis Golgatha
and alone shall I perish.
amids carnage and oblivion
For I shunn the vulgarity of the maimed earth
I may not have company of myself for the
ocean no longer bears reflection
As for Fire, its blaze drives me beneath
And the wind?! it speaks unintelligible babble

The flames of Avalone run deep
in the wells of our hearts,
Yet Avalone is lost to man
black are its sundered parts
of old what grew,so fair
shining,yonder to the west
wherefore has it passed,and why,
does not the light,glimmering,silver gold,
appear to the mortal eye
The two trees that stood,seemingly eternal
are now watered but by shadow
And light,oh cruel light it is now
that burns and does not gently flow
like it did,among the towers of Avalone
The light has passed into flame
blue and white,searing above all else
souls who sought once its blessing
a treacherous guide,
ever leading to the vaults of the deep
where dark and evil light,
remain ever stoking their devilry
spewing it out,into the halls of the night
where yet there is to be found
some of the beauty that was afore
for the stars,they came from Arda
and to her they are bound
They rest among shadow,but glitter
like they did,above the skies of Avalone
Beauty, what of the fallen beauty?
unfathomable among losses, unnumbered are the tears
for even the tongues,of those who did dwell,
there in its glory,have mingled, and remain,
over the  see,where the trees fell
and are heard not among men,to whom but
a whisper came,and darkness,and memory
passed on by age,of the vanquished,of the slain
and of those forgotten among the flames of Avalone