Daegal Poems

What gothic truths of feral ruin, when great
Churches burn and crumble. Foundations laid
In ground tainted with the harmonious weight
...

Sitting in a field of vivid, untamed
Flowers, deeply tinted in the sunlight,
Is a lonely soldier, clad in dirty
Warrior’s garb. Blood-stained blade beside him,
...

Upon a morning, mid-March time, still cold
And dank throughout, there was a figure which stood
Lean and slight, silhouetted against the bold
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For the one I can’t forget.

I can see a shattered body, lying
Broken in the snow. A lonesome crying
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Twirling ghosts wrapped, ethereal, around
Gothic spires, arabesque in silhouette
And piercing the ashen moonlight. She
Walked on misty stepping stones gleaming wet
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Pure subtlety has ne’er before been seen,
With deep whites and pale crimsons as its sheen,
Opens glorious, its morning greeting,
Yet when darkness comes, its wings - fleeting.
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Hung in the air by phantom hands,
Pulling tides up higher sands,
The sun turned inside-out it seems,
To guard and defend our magic dreams.
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Two men, one with sense,
One with faith. The first needs faith,
The second needs sense.
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Drowning in a revenant night, my eyes
Sunken to dreaming, where ravenous skies
Rolled thunder’s diction through my velvet cries
And drove a vengeful whisper to arise.
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We have here, Bartholomew. No light could
Break his eyes, and he ne’er saw the cruel
Night displace the kissing clouds in a deep
Scarlet carnival, rising phantastic
...