
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?


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


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 beating slow
The lovers weep
A lifeless body
Beneath waning glow
Upon cold stone crags
And the violent seas below


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


The Sovereign
The clattering commotion
Is the catalyst for Freedom
Vociferously carving its way
Across the pregnant landscape
Marks like cuneiform
Writ on an ancient Earth
Stretches across a continent,
Seemingly separate markings
Yet together they are momentous
In a cool clamor it billows;
Edging towards Dawn


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
