Under the mountain
The dragon does sleep
His silver and gold
Under guard does he keep

Make haste, flee away
From his fiery breath
For his eyes they see far
And his claws they bring death

He flies through the sky
With a vengeance filled mind
An anger undulled
And unwearied by time

His enemies burn
From the flames of his tongue
He slays one and all
From the old to the young

And once he is sated
He slumbers once more
And pray ne'er again
Will we hear his great roar

let us speak in tones, hushed,
of mountains and molehills.
benchmarked by
tape measures,
underscored, with concerned apprehension.

for now it is time,
to masticate the elephant
and the roaring lion too.
with silver plated forks and knifes undulled with use.
slap down your grievance on the noritake dinnerware
and partition the proportion, dissect the angst,
and delicately place the rage, between your bloodless lips.
to sit,
ashlike on your scathing tongue.
we will drink,
your aged bitterbile wine,
in leaden crystal goblets.
smile at your witticisms,
however,
humdrum and malign.

and when the elephant,
is but ivory and leather.
and the king of beasts,
but a tattered rug,
upon your floor.

we shall cry jubilee, jubilee,
cry freedom.
our indenture is done.
emancipation now has come.
and we will run, we will run.


it is then,
we will be,
looking at life,
with kaleidescope eyes.
fitted with lenses of love, joy,   and liberty, crystalized within.

we will be,
dancing the fandango,
with robust, rebellious gusto
and singing glory, hallelujah riffs.

and o' there will be laughter
and big broad smiles.
and o' there will be hugging
and much comfort shared.
and the door will be open,
for anyone to come sit
and chatter on for a while.
heaven on earth,
heaven on earth.

let us speak in tones.....
                                hushed......
of mountains and molehills. 
benchmarked by tape measures,
underscored, with
concerned....
                     apprehension.

for now it is time,
to masticate the elephant
and the roaring lion too.
with silver plated forks
and knifes undulled....
                                 with use.

slap down your....
                            grievance
on the noritake dinnerware
and partition....
                       the proportion,

dissect the angst,
and delicately place,
the rage,
between your bloodless lips. 
to sit ashlike on your.....        
                       scathing tongue.

we will drink....
                             once more,
one last time, one sip of,
your aged bitterbile wine,
in leaden crystal goblets.
smile at your witticisms,
however, humdrum...
                            and malign.

and then,when the elephant,
is but ivory and leather. 

and the king of beasts,
now, but a tattered rug....
                     upon your floor.

we shall cry....
                          jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. 
our indenture is finally done.
emancipation now has come.

and we will run.......
                           we will run.

it is then,we will be.....
                          looking at life, 
with kaleidescope eyes.
fitted with lenses of love, joy,  
and liberty, crystalized.....      
                                        within.

we will be,dancing......
                            the fandango,
with robust, rebellious gusto
and singing glory....
                         hallelujah riffs.

and o' there will be......
laughter and big broad      
                                       smiles.

and o' there will be ....
                                   hugging

and much comfort shared.

and the door will be ...
                                         open...

for anyone......

to come sit and chatter...
                          on for a while.

heaven on earth.......
                    heaven on earth...

In the prime of my youth
I'm already tired of this world
it's battles and loneliness
Yet buried deep within
is a hope I hide from crashing waves
and howling winds of passing pains
A hope undulled by lessons learnt
and fingers burnt
I shelter a candle of endless patience
Beneath my armour of dissapointed youth

I wait for more
A hand to hold
A world to explore
A life to mould

On the verge of my twenties
And I feel quite empty
Although perhaps that is best to think-
I am an empty page, inviting the splash of ink

own the title, and perhaps
what follows, but,
“it,”
came & went,
like so many desires,
moments to momentarily,
only to retreat to unreachable
recesses,
shelves in my mind,
for Without Witchcrafon Steam,
no ladder exists
for them be cleansed
or reached,

except when my dreams bleed

it is almost unfair that time is
not
on my side,
that I am eaten alive
by insiders, no
that self~kerrects,
to mere acquaintances,
more or lessened to

NOR

does the peculiar rain’s
that exists in my brain,
permits the razors
not
to go undulled, unsullied,
no,
they are scathed to
unshaven , un-sharpened,
where &
when I search for a
bon mot, invariably
the answer is a 503.
gateway closed to thee/me,
by virtue of your lack of
virtues

nor
is the motif,
my scrappy pieces
of no resistance

for all are closing rapid,
and that’s an endpoint
of sordid…

now the brain bleeds
persistent
no contented to wait
for just dreams,
the rain is hard at work
24/7