
The Scribe
A Poet who can’t write
A Warrior who won’t fight
A Constitution with no might
And a Ruler without a throne
.
For those who scale the mountain’s peak
There’s sacred knowledge one must seek
A journey meant not for the weak
Or of sundered heart be known
.
There’s victory on the horizon
For those who know the Wise One
Whom recognize the guide stone
Thereby the poet’s words be penned
.
Tis now that all must take up arms
Be it pen or sword to belay harms
Do not be fooled by deceiver’s charms
As the warrior picks up and fights again
.
The spirit of the Law be formed
From the hearts of battles we have learned
Abandoned Old Ways not t’be mourned
With ghosts we walk primordial trails
.
The Poet’s pen thus transcribes
Upon the throne the Word is scribed
The Warrior’s might protects the tribe
And the Word as Law is what prevails


Fallout
the pieces they are
put together with flimsy tape
transparent
and not put on straight
like a child crafting a stage play
using tools of no use;
the proscenium arch is lit
framing a worldview
with shadows dancing on a primitive wall
.
but the bulbs they grow hot
the curtains part
the stage is revealed
to be made of wax
as it melts….
.
With Icarus falling


Soma
Soma lies
And tricks the eyes
We are the sullied
Sick and beaten
Exiled
By our kin
We are feared and
Dirty heathens
.
The cult has spoken
Which can’t be broken
As the ringleaders
Spin the lies
Mesmerized
And hypnotized
Soma works to dull the wise
.
But the wise they know
That it’s all a show
Put on for glassy-eyed
Believers
For when it’s time
The lights will dim
To break the nation
From their fever


Strange Lands
knowing
one can never know
what lies
below the ether set
if what is known
is not foregoing
knowing only
grief
and deep regret
how could we know?
if not for knowing
if the known
is meant to be unknown,
for knowing such
that’s nought for showing
is meant to shelter us
from knowing
too much


Empty, In Waiting
Life ending,
Never beginning
My days a hollowed womb
Barren, lifeless,
Deserted
My future but a tomb
.
Existence meets
Its Final Breath
Time besieges its dying prey
A body still
And unforgiven
With all its prospects in decay
.
All hope is sunk
In starving soils
A wasteland it became
Nothing growing
Sterile Earth
As I will never know their name


Little Seeds
Come on little seed, grow;
We planted you so long ago
.
Are the soils barren?
Bereft of life;
Are you rotting in the ground?
Is your little seed soul,
Lost in Ether,
And having troubles being found?
.
We are right here waiting!
The soil is warm;
The sun is beating
It’s brilliant heart.
We are protectress, we are patron
And vow to shelter you from the start.
.
But the ground is silent,
Unmoving
It is a devoid and a hollow mound,
Is our bond already broken?
Are our lives to be bound?
.
Little Seed, Little Seed
The soil is ready, we have you sown;
Little Seed,
What’s the matter?
Why won’t you bear,
Why won’t you grow?


Vessel
The Crone scratches
At my throat
Upon the evening’s
Afterglow
Darkened skies
Fading stars
I watch another
Waning show
Her grip digs deeper
As vitals seep
Hearts beat slow
The lovers weep
A lifeless life
‘neath waning glow
Upon cold stone crags
And the violent seas below
