Poems

For whom does the sun not rise?
For whom doth the mournful sky weep?
Mighty Laerek hath fallen
Defending the high lord’s keep
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The clock ticking the steadiness to maddened pacing.
Why do the whispers of chronology wound the ears like vicious blows in the infancy of dawn?
Its arms such vicious incisors of the fabric of life, the cold taskmaster with the gorgon stare.
Teeth inside of it unseen, the grinding molars of gear work, the crushing inexorability of its purpose.
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Inwardly I seek myself, but who is it I am looking for?
Countless doors line this hallway, but is any path the right one?
The band is playing to my left; the carousel horses escaped their tethers,
The lights dimmed for this, the carnival of souls, the exposition of what?
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Falling down the herald snow
The winter chill a breath to blow
To tumble the hand of fate
The harsh breath to never abate
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The house burns in the dead of day
Cry not for water say not a word
Must find the needle in the burning hay
Inferno speaks its flaming voice heard
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Ebon Amazonian goddess
Grace me once again
Your face so strong, your hands so slender
Your build so very thin
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Clang of chains and chains of names
The forge filled fast of all
Cast in brass and silver and seldom of gold
For honors bound and secrets told
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Breathing the temporal miasma of inadequacy
Trapped in this frail mortal shell
Oh how this earth has imprisoned me
Stranded betwixt Heaven ‘n’ hell
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What sun does rise at eventide?

What light shall never fall?
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Silent wings, night's black cloak
God's life forge, too little wood to stoke
...