We sat atop the remnants of a spire
That counted once the heavens its domain —
The storm that laid it low no more held claim
Unto that heart, that served still to inspire,
And we — we sat beneath a sky of sapphire
Inlaid with gold, a ring of Helios flame —
And ghosts passed by, and curious spirits came
And flickered over our hill like lilies afire

And leaving hence, I felt a bitter chill,
The numbing frost-touched fingers of the dead
That rent my soul and tore my heart asunder —
Such wounds infect the heart, the soul, the head,
And evermore resound inside as thunder —
Their chattering grating voices haunt me still.

If “content” is the narrative,
Wee daubed lines on a page —
A book without superlative
Would fill the content gauge

And if “content” is bits and bobs
Left in your grandpa’s trunk —
A pair of broken door knobs
Would serve as content junk

But if “content” is happiness,
The peace of being whole —
One errant daub, or bob the less
Denies a content soul.

Though autumn runs swift, I recall summer bygones
When thin hours were thrift; when the golden horizons
Of sunrise and sunset rose quick to their meeting,
And the night wore regret of a day ever fleeting.

O! To drink one last draught of the schemes youth had made!
The toil of our graft now lays hidden in shade;
The sunrise comes calling, and the sunset declines,
But the autumn is waning, and the winter confines

The march of a heartbeat, the pace of its drummer,
As boot-weary feet bear the blisters of summer;
The aching-back bends ‘neath the weight of horizons
That bookmark the ends of our gold summer bygones.

Meet me by moonlight
Where the low shadow falls —
We will dance in the twilight,
Our duet as loves’ thralls

We will dance tight together
For one heartbeat, one kiss,
And one breath of forever
Will preserve our sweet tryst.

The crash of crystal breaking at a party
Draws jeers of laughter from the self-same few
Who claim, when morning comes, they never knew
Of idle boasts that grew to plans more hearty,
And pressed, would say from him we stood apart.  We
Were bold and brash but unlike those who slew
The *******, and the dark skinned, and the jew,
We upheld values of society.
The coward hides in plain sight in a crowd
And adds voice to the clamour, not as one
Who acts alone, subverting evil schemes,
But like as one so small, so ill endowed,
That when the hardy revellers are gone,
His empty life holds nothing but their dreams.

Five and forty hands
Crucified democracy
In these harrowed lands

Ambition breeds strife --
The arm draped round your shoulders
Often wields the knife.