we watch this moment endure
itself, such is the struggle between
man and his beast, that cuts sharp
manner of its self, alone and in a darkness
alone cut the path, only of its source
we see the mapped out vision of
existence and its demise, a demise
proportions never before regaled in this
of our fatherhood.
alone may believe that the answer is in him
maybe a greater force guides the
hand across the page of love, hate
apparition, such is the soul of now in an
around our spiritual longings.
visions of yesterday, plumed with
ghost that shatters the vision of stone
enamelled upon a marble bier.
of late and buried under the chalice
out by breaths of stifled wind.
visionary that sees harm done
a people starved of itself, singed by
fury of desire and wanton warring.
shall be the path of motion
by its strangulations of
and peace hopes.
Ripe paths of the landscape beckon
to the sky blue, sea blue land.
All about its existence is a mire of
indecision calling forth the sad grey,
mad gray light.
Come forth they say to all as a lyre
strums its tune of woe and wassail,
purging the bowels of earth upon a
calm sea of anguish, blood let by a
bow of iniquity.
Ripe sky larks swoop below the belt
of scorn in its helpless rapture of death.
Beaten back under a seemingly settled
brow of evilness and mirth.
All in all we sail below the ocean rather
than ride its petulant waves briskly up
towards the zenith of its powers behind us.
Giant thunder roars of wash mark us darkly
with no other means than of raping back our
spasms of breath as they deluge the drift.
Fire is its own element of fury dancing darkly
on the brimstone cloud of earthy spume that
ensconces all that man brings of fury to its maker.