A somber winter’s tale

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Morrow calls the late sun to rise
to carry away the raw nights of ice

I failed the riches in bleakest of life
and buried the poorness in crustiest glaze

no pledge in faith
no want in love

and all the speeches remain the same

No musings
No pennies
No linings
No hope

some would have been
some would have lost
it’s sorrow to day
and hardship to night

(In the forge of the earth,
a  primrose may know)

Hymn of the elusive magic

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It is the hope for a window agleam in an open house
when tundra nights stretch beyond the morrows

It is the hope for a roof ahead in a faithful land
when libellous streets curl beyond the frontiers

 

It is the hope for a raft afloat in a placid ocean
when hungry waves crash beyond the shores

It is the hope for a cloud adrift in a lucent sky
when furious storms lash beyond the heavens

 

It is the hope for a seed alive in a friendly soil
when barren sands rush beyond the gardens

It is the hope for a song aloud in a mellow hall
when fatal quiet reaches beyond the gates.

Prayer of the Weary

Picture 033Shut my head
block my eyes
forget, forget that I’m alive.

Greys of rain-twines irk my being
enough, enough, you springtime fleeing!

Bolt the house
secure the yard
recall, recall that I am marred.

Browns of mud-rows vex my substance
begone, begone, you winter’s nuisance!

Break the rigour
blast the frost
reveal, reveal that I am lust.

Reds of sound-strings quiver my core
Come on, come on, you riot times’ lure!