The meeting

There was a pub,
At the end of town,
Where gathered many,
A wayward clown,
The East most point,
Of town it was,
And so when I had,
Come across,
The dusty building,
I gave a pause.
The dingy lighting,
The musty smell,
Its very purpose,
Was to repel,
It didn't fool me,
For a second,
In hindsight at least,
This I reckoned,
A den of vice,
It seemed to be,
Yet it seemed,
Known to me,
The bartender,
With glint in eye,
(He seemed a rather,
Jovial guy),
Asked if I would,
Like a drink,
And I asked him,
For a glass of milk,
He looked upon me,
With consternation,
Yet there was,
No altercation
And soon I sipped,
Upon my milk,
All alone,
In my ilk,
And just when I,
Was growing weary,
She came to me,
This damsel cheery,
On her finger,
A compass she wore,
Her glass was empty,
She wanted more,
Yet 'twas not ale,
That she was drinking,
She was no lass,
With spirits,
Asinking,
Her voice was as,
Smooth as silk,
As she ordered,
"Another milk",
I felt shy,
(I don't know why),
To strike,
A conversation,
But something told me,
Perhaps her smile,
I was under,
Her observation,
"You travel East?"
She said at last,
I felt nostalgic,
Of my past,
"Yes", said I,
With cheeks so rouge,
Feeling like,
Such a stooge,
"Good", said she,
"So am I",
A good companion,
You shall be.

A warrning

And as that voice,
Of Him grew stronger,
Everything took,
A little longer,
Curiosity met,
Many a catkind,
Some of which,
Had Eastward hunger.
And so their mind,
Found a voice in me,
"Travel East,
And we shall see".
But the rumour,
Of the beast was growing,
Ashmeth, and,
Her forest knowing,
Many had rested,
But in vain,
In her forest,
To find no gain,
And no one knew,
Who she was,
There was no news,
Of her cause,
But all who met her,
Spoke but naught,
In spiders' webs,
They were caught.
And so there was,
No information,
No guidance,
No inspiration,
We all just knew,
Of the beast,
Who ate those souls,
Who travel East.

The calling

As far as I could,
Recollect,
They always told me,
"Introspect",
But as the store of,
Life grew full,
I found myself,
A raging bull.
Then grew my thoughts,
Towards the East,
Towards that solemn,
Wondrous League,
I heard of all those,
Who had departed,
And those who had not,
Still yet started,
I heard of Ashmeth,
Wondrous beast,
The bane of all those,
Who travel East,
And I rose each morning,
To greet the Sun,
And knew each day,
It had begun,
His voice did start,
To ring within,
"Behold I rise,
Watch. Be still.
Come to me,
And my league,
End your weary,
Soul's fatigue,
I rise each morning,
And so must you,
And by the day,
Travel East".

Evensong

The woods were green,
And full of fragrance,
I wandered searching,
For the beast,
My demons freely,
Took a chance,
Upon my soul,
To take a feast.
I grew weary,
And tired still,
On the path,
I trod on,
My sight grew dim,
Yet was a will,
To overcome,
And carry on.
Behold! I saw,
The beast appear,
Resplendent, blinding,
As I drew near.
Her name was Ashmeth,
She stirred my soul,
And left nothing,
But an empty hole.
She looked upon me,
As a child,
And I felt like,
Twice the man,
Innocent thoughts,
Thus defiled,
Somewhere else,
They grew and ran.
And then my demons,
Found a voice,
"In her you must rejoice".
And so did reason,
With sweet abandon,
Give way to passion,
And evensong.
As darkness fell,
I fell from grace,
No more man,
Just a beast,
Yet in the morning,
He rose again,
He said to me,
"Travel East".
I could not hear,
Still His calling,
To Ashmeth,
I had lost my will.
In her beauty,
I found my fill,
Eastward bound,
I no more was.
My demons grew,
Strong within me,
No longer could I,
See the cause.
And soon I had,
Taken root,
In the forest,
Of her love.
I blossomed,
Flourished,
Grew removed.
And there was,
Ashmeth,
In evensong.

Hushed

Violent art,
Within my soul,
Shall drive,
A haunting reverie.

Meandering thought,
Within my mind,
Shall blossom,
Into revelry.

Yet we shall think,
Indifferent thoughts,
In silence,
Unspeakably.

The moment now,
Shall soon be past,
Leaving but,
A memory.

But none shall seek,
And naught shall find,
True meaning in,
My poetry.

A mother's explanation

The age old fruit,
Of Life is ripe,
With well formed rind,
Of sweet abandon.

We shall not seek,
The seeds of wisdom,
The folly of,
The young foretold.

For life is lived,
And lessons learned,
And we shall know it,
Through the past.

Through yesterday,
We judge tomorrow,
And in this moment,
Requiesce.

Speak

Speak to me in blank verse,
Without the embellishment,
Of vain rhythm,
And then we shall,
Connect with truth,
Naked in our lies,
Unveiled.
Speak to me of fallacy,
Of formless substance,
Felt unknown,
Of rhapsodies;
Unwarranted emotion,
Of unspoke arguments,
Untrue.
Speak to me of love,
And random definitions,
Specific in their effect,
And cynical in their outcome.
Of effort, of passion,
Of the sorry mixture,
Thereof.
Speak to me of anything,
But speak nonetheless,
And know that my,
Store of words,
Becomes less,
And less;
Speak.

Whispers

I saw the rain in the streets tonight,
It danced a wandering rhythm,
I felt it dropping from my eye,
As perception grew dim.

....

I felt the echoed thought again,
In mellow tubelit jazz refrain,
In a frightening tranquility,
I saw again its fragility.

And again it met my eyes,
With ever subtle moist reprise,
And, again, the flow of fears,
Whispers, that no one hears.

Tranquility

And a chapter closes,
To start anew,
At its own,
Beginning.

And the cruel truth,
Holds you captive,
It shall not,
Set you free.

Until at last,
You find solace,
In a future known,
In the past.

And break away,
From self deception,
To Tranquility,
In solitude.

The inward journey

In the shadows,
Footsteps trace,
Ashes flying,
In the wind.

And ghosts arise,
In their midst,
To guide the fleeing,
Renegade.

"Onward march,"
They howl in wind,
As Cupid scowls,
From places high.

Behold!
Thy hollow,
Vows,
Forgotten.

Behold!
The passing,
Minute,
Gone.

Behold!
The inward,
Transformation.
From child,
That was,
To man,
That is.

Madness

Is it madness?
To fill,
Emptiness,
With unspoke,
Silence?

Is it madness?
To fill,
The passing,
Moment,
With fettered,
Violence?

Is it madness?
To see it in,
Tranquility?
Madness?
To see its,
Fragility?

Is it madness,
To know it,
In alienation?
Madness,
To conquer it,
In subjugation?

Is it madness,
To know madness,
Itself,
Madness?
To really,
Know thyself?

Mother

Expunge the reason,
From thy greying,
No fruit grows,
On wisened trees.

And remember,
The sweet motive,
Shared in shade,
With strangers 'ere.

We are one,
But time divides us,
I am fruit,
And you are root.

December

I searched for you,
O'er hill and mountain,
And when luck met you,
In the vale,
You were known and part,
Of me,
In the grey December.

The autumn leaf,
Sang a song of sorrow,
For it had lost its
Wondorus Spring,
You were know and part,
Of me,
In the grey December.

All man's mirth,
And all his sorrow,
Could not hide the truth,
You were known and part,
Of me,
In the grey December.

And now I feel,
The summer calling,
And ale that freely floweth,
But you were known and part,
Of me,
In the grey December.

Solace

My palm,
Against,
The spot,
That you touched,
But,
The Wall,
Is cold.

No warmth,
Within,
The spot,
That you touched,
And,
The wall,
Is cold.

Memory,
Of warmth,
Dies out,
And does fade,
With,
The wall,
That's cold.

Meekly,
Submitting,
To fate,
And the wall,
With,
The heart,
Of stone.

My life,
Goes on,
Nonchalant,
Ignorant,
Of,
Could be,
And can't.

We meet,
Again,
Strangers,
And renew,
Deep,
Unholy,
Silence.

And part,
Again,
Lovers,
So sacred,
Of,
A new,
Kind faith.

Not sad,
But oft,
Blessed,
We are so,
Of,
A love,
Expressed.

Within,
The cold,
Stone wall,
Where our palms,
Did,
Part in,
Darkness.

Intoxication

Introspection doth belie itself
In the spiritual moment,
For when I saw eternity,
I was eternity.

Conversations with God Himself,
Do not serve me justice,
For when I hear His holy voice,
I am His holy voice.

Thoughts of sin do hurt the soul,
But will not last the night,
For when I saw the morning coming,
I was the morning light.

The soul sings forth melancholily;
The melancholy of moments past,
But when I heard sonatas sweet,
I was the moment past.

Rejoice Rejoice! the truth is known,
But when was it unknown?
When i perceive the solemn truth,
I am the solemn truth.

The truth is hard Why blame yourself,
For every human weakness,
But when you feel a sense of guilt,
I am the guilt itself.

Call this vice call it weakness,
Call it what you like,
But when I write intoxicated,
I am intoxication.

Reject

The parting of the hair.
Beware beware!
The look he bears,
The way he swears.
No one cares.
No one cares.
Despondent demeanour,
Desolate dejection.
Rejection.
Rejection.
Ascetic hermit,
Unwordly eyes,
Lunatic,
Lunatic.
Tick tick tock,
Ticks the clock,
Till when?
Till when?
Questions,
No answers,
You ask,
You ask.
Dreary dreams,
Silent screams,
You see,
I hear.
Monuments,
Of Misery,
Errect.
Errect.
No touch,
Not much,
Is left,
Is left.
Hollow shell,
Thoughts of hell,
No death,
No death.