.

i stand as i once did many ages ago

i stand where it begun and i let it all go

all the colorful pains and too all the grey joys

all the bright loving fires all the icy hatred

in the end we are pawns we are all merely toys

in the hands of the fates in the hands of the gods

and all that is precious and all that is sacred

is thrown into the wind is thrown against all odds,

a lion’s heart is big but his teeth are cruel

a mountain and a snake can never measure up

to the ones around them or to one another’s

however when comes time for the two to duel

only one may prevail and drink the sacred cup

be they sworn enemies or be they sworn brothers

.

To a Lady of Veermeer eyes.

.

The rose is red,

The violet’s blue,

True love is dead,

Dead love rings true.

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A short, little, old thing I found again tonight.

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As I ponder over this still blank page

I wonder how many a thousand time

I have said those words, I have roamed this cage,

How often have I tried each and every rhyme?

Modern Sisyphus, rolling my boulder

Closer to the top but never reaching,

I throw handsome words over my shoulder,

Trying to bale out, I end up beaching;

I feel more like Tentalus however,

Condemned to always see but never touch

The immoral fruit to make me clever,

Oh though I may grasp, I will never clutch,

And so it hangs down from that acursed tree

Always almost ripe, ever tempting me,

Reflection of greed in my poetry

For in the end I am my own enemy.

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The seven deadly sins are present in each and every verse of mine.

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Wait a minute! I recognize this song!

Yes it is familiar, I heard it long

Ago when I was still but a young boy,

My heart was still pure and my mind still coy

But all those years have passed and I have learned

That the world was oh so much vaster than

What it had appeared, my whole view had turned,

If only I had known all I know then…

The night is eerie, my mind is weary,

And yet my body does feel quite cheery,

Long forgotten are these thousand one frights

For tonight feels the night of all the nights!

This strange, fun tune, I have heard it before!

My body remembers: to the dance floor

where it drags me in a fateful twist,

I throw up my arms and throw up my fist,

My legs move one their own, my heart dances,

My mind falls into one of those trances,

I swear I can control myself no more!

The stones are lit up with old Jack’s lanterns

As these old bones rattle in twists and turns,

And I am not alone under the moon,

The people of the night have come to croon,

Oh we are all here, and we are giving

Our souls — oh look! There’re even some living!

There was no body and then, in a flash!

Everyone was dancing the Monster Mash!

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Of course, what else?

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When rain was falling down

On the beautiful gown

And the lilies began

To fade away and wan,

Some soft bittersweet notes

Were birthed by violins,

They broke their sacred oaths

Under the violet

And they fled from the coast

Upon winds violent,

Away from the blessed stone

Of the Levi islands,

Simple cast a ways stowed;

Long after poets sang

Of how they rowed and rowed

Far beyond ying and yang.

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Not really sure about this one…

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Was it then? Was it in that moment?

In the instant our eyes met,

Did you find me very charmant?

I swear I knew, and yet

I did not act upon this feeling

And gave time to time itself

For it would have sent you reeling,

Me, to the dusty shelf

Of ‘maybe exes and others’ bunch,

Lucky for me time had stopped,

Or should I say I had a hunch?

Nah, my mind had just popped.

And when it returned, oh the colours!

Oh the sounds and oh the warmth,

And the loveliest of odors,

One that almost harmeth;

By chance or coincidence, that day,

I let the sand keep falling

But my friend, be it as it may,

I now thank this stalling.

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Pachance is the mother of all virtue.

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In a draft, it all begins in a draft;

Soft wind is picking up in the white sails,

Who hears the message running in the gales?

Alone on the ocean, lost on a raft,

Who’d, for a sole win, bear a thousand fails?

But thus sparks the genesis of the craft,

There, as a helmsman on the paper aft,

The poet is walking grand celestial trails…

.

An incomplete sonnet.

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The Bittersuite – I

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Tell her you did not mean it,

Tell her it was a mistake,

Tell her she is gonna wake

And that she’ll never dream it

Ever again in this flesh,

Tell her I pray you, tell her,

Oh please! do not make her thresh

This path for it will fell her,

You cannot leave to silence

What your voice will not express

You cannot restore balance

By stitching up this old dress,

It will tear and it will fall

If you simply run and stall,

Tell oh tell her I tell you

Not for glory, nor a reward,

Not for the many, nor the few,

No, simply to move forward.

So just tell her t’was a lie

Or even that it was truth,

You must tell her, tell her why,

For what now can the pain sooth?

Tell her. Oh sing it! Scream it!

Don’t you see what is at stake?!

Her whole universe will break,

Telling her might redeem it…

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Home of the Witch.