To own a house has always been the dream,
Or so the kids are told — And so they yearn,
And enter servitude to pay to learn,
Amassing debts that pile up till they seem

As tall as any townhouse — Graduation
Goes by, and now they need a car to ply
For work to save to buy some old pig sty,
And banks will lend (subject to valuation) —

And so, kids born with nothing now have less,
And toil their life to pay the debts they owe,
And teach kids of their own how they should go
To lend to spend to learn to have success,

And buy a house to live the American dream,
Or wake from debt-fuelled nightmare with a scream.

The Avon Bard served to inspire
Young Keats unto his Bright Star sonnet

The sea took Shelley to his pyre,
Bestowed with words of Keats upon it

Yet Keats wet not the widow's eye,
Nor counted clocks that tell the time

Yet Shelley drew no Bright Star nigh,
Nor flowered a tale more sweet than rhyme

So why I ask would any poet
Claim unto them another's craft?

If thou has not the wit to show it,
Pray, keep thine own words saved as Draft.

The living Land of Gold lays desiccated,
Wept dry to dust for thee — Along its West-most
Rim, thy last sunset waned like a ghost —

Who carved thy sacred stone? Who decorated
Thy mortal tomb?  Who but for thee was lost?
Who worshipped thee above all Heaven’s host?

I eyed dismayed thy cold bones desecrated —
Mayhap the Sun reborn shall raise thy spirit,
As we raised up thy tomb to look upon it.

And like a bride when all the guests had flown –
Unto her Quarter Master, veil upraised
And corsage strewn atop her lily gown,
The ****** MOON stood humble and unphased

A boon of SUN's light nestled in her tresses,
And HEAVEN's gift, bright star-born chandeliers –
COUTURIER, The Wind, bestowed caresses –
CENTAURUS brought an honour guard of spears

The MOON, her dimples pale, her mood unblemished,
Fell silent as a petal on a flower –
Her slender frame looked ever the more diminished
And wanton as she lay upon her bower

She watched the constellations rearranging
To mark this passing day across the skies,
And full aware that things were ever changing
The MOON laid down her guard and closed her eyes.

A chill wind shivers o'er Tempest Sea,
One final breath that lingers on;
A lost voice beckons to his Deity,
Why unto me thy will was done?

For I mingled grateful as the fountains
Borne through cracks from ocean waves,
And sought for Heaven amidst high mountains,
And spent my grief at familial graves,
And shared of myself, not a silent stone,
And kept thy faith in spite of all,
And for this and more, thou bade me alone,
Unanswering thy call?

Now, the fountains dried and the Earth may mourn
And the ocean flooded from salt-cracked skin,
And the flowers have choked to the strangling thorn,
And the ossuary opened, and beckoned me in,
And the sun has waned, and the clasp of night
Had me bound in a beam of the moon's device,
And these lips felt the kiss of the barrow wight
As thou denied me thrice.

A chill wind shivers o'er Tempest Sea,
One final breath that lingers on;
A lost voice beckons to his Deity,
Why unto me thy will was done?

If cold I awake from the depths of Dark Hollow,
Where Faeries dance gaily around pole-lanterns blazing,
To bathe in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow
That flits through the room like an eye steadfast gazing,
I’d suffer no comfort, till the fanfare of morning,
And my shivering spine, and my blue-blazoned skin
Would abide uncomplaining, till the Dawn light swept in.

And the Morrow would find me still gripped in Night’s pale,
And the Sun fail to warm me, and the Air would not move me,
And the feast laid for breakfast would wither and stale,
And my eyes transfixed open would gaze around blindly —
And the Sunset would follow, and Twilight would find me
Awash in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow,
And thence to Lone Splendour of the depths of Dark Hollow.

Our lives are as the raindrop to the river —
We falter, and we tumble; We are lost
And in the tumult cling to one another —

Enslaved by riverbanks, the river roiling
Is rain-lashed in a torrent — We are tossed
And buffeted amidst the turmoiled boiling —

Atop the foaming surface, battles rage
As brother battles brother for the sun —
Relenting, flowing, falling to a cage

In murky depths, with blissful recollection
Of cloudless skies afore the rivers run,
We cling to hope to someday rejoin Heaven.