Son of one has left us, stirred of emaciation
Upon plank has the heat grasped?
Love of the tree to brook, a forgotten relation,
Just as dirt on hand shall never pass.
Free of gloom,
Amongst passing in pending doom,
Hitherto forgotten, yet a thought shan’t lash;
And youth coward as cowards seek mass
Sheltered here forever more,
Rain shall rust minds steel door
About refuge of heat spoken in rhythm.
Grasp faith and defect from lore
The end is nigh, though do not give in.

And so it breaks as I break
But to say that is that
No lies it would be
Death has come and I have watched
As the albatross stays at peaks Unknown
I forget of it and truth that must be for death has yet to claim me.

As the sky flew
overhead.
And the stars fell.
I felt ugly,
compared to its
Beauty.

Your supple curves
Carve tears upon my cheek
For now they are nothing,
Just a memory.
And I laugh in the glowing sun
Knowing death has yet to come
And you are not the one.

You have reached
Within my soul
Roles reversed and I,
The stone has lost its role.

And told so was the day, told of the coming dark that greets the end each eve.
Though no eve existed before the change of light to dark,
Nor any sun existed before the dark.
Nor any man before any women.

And so sit solemn, solidarity departs you and
bleeds itself dry in the room down the hall.
And you do not here it’s cry.

No man transcends the thrown
From which his fate is
Chosen.
So die in blind
Ambition,
And live,
With naive joys.

Fear swells from oblivion
and to oblivion it falls.
Stepped sturdy from the depths
I So very often call.
Once and then twice and once more
Again.
The toes that once touched will never more
Mend.

Draw me crazy,
Shadows of my arms and legs sprawled along the brick.
Drive me home,
Where stone bears no shade nor hope
plays no trick.

Wallow, pitiful man of the spring and summer
know that the grass still breaths when winter blows
Wallow in your high-way blazed ignorance.
to seek the south when the north disagrees
to seek the south when the north disregards.
To see not the day to come, one must know the day that's past.
And I, pitiful man, crave capital that eludes knows only
this.
Only the blisters born of december.
And so in my stupidity I accept it,
A s th ough it is all that i s.
As though it is all that is.

Foot of stone bore deep into the swell,
cracking upon and destroying.
For soon they who the stone holds
shall fall and be no more.
Stand long, stand tall.

Stand long, do not fall,
For when you do and it is done,
Swells will perforate the stone raw.
And to those born between the stars
Do not long, do not call.