A voice unheard

God gifted me the power
of a cunning way with words.
But what use is a voice if a voice goes unheard?

Like a flare shot up against the sun,
I’m lost amidst the sound.

Like raindrops aplenty absorbed by soil,
I sink beneath the noise.

The wooing of a girl
drowned by a sun-soil crowd;
love’s not heard when lust is loud.

Pan for gold

I cleared my head and now my breaths
were crisp like mountain air.
The lakes, the trees, I start to dream,
and let it take me there.

I pushed myself to greater heights,
the river was my guide;
meandered to infinity,
but always by my side.

The icy-cool was welcome and
though thirst had taken hold,
a shiny silt washed round my mouth;
cupped in my hands was gold!

As quick as was discovery,
the treasure vanished fast.
But beauty had entranced my soul;
that glimmer of the past.

For years I panned through worthless silt,
but as my nights grew cold,
the beauty rose from riverbed,
and now I’m panning gold.


the die
let me see,
let me hear, let me
smell the six.
The square-cut role can set me free;
my life depends on this.

Draw the card and let me see, let me feel,
let me taste the ace. The patterned cards can set me
free; No sign upon my face.

“This one’s for you.” Said I,
and watched as luck ran dry.
My life,
my soul,
my love
for you,
I sold it all to

Beneath the waves

Now summer nights have been fulfilled,
the winter wind brings icy chill,
and in the dark of what was day,
brings with it something far from thrill.

The finest woven plans are frayed,
but held so firm just yesterday.
I lean upon the window sill
and search for light as evening fades.

The sky has lost its night decór
that shone so brilliant days before,
and silence drones with awful din;
a soundless breath, a midnight’s roar.

But I’ll hold tight to turtle-fin
and dive beneath this world we’re in,
for hope has sunk to ocean floor;
it’s weighted down with hate and sin.

Tide of lust

The lustful man may seek true love
and find none but dead flowers’ stems.
Oblivious and innocent
are men who find the sweetest rose.

Aesthetic greed lies in the eyes
of those who’ll find fake love will blind.
Whilst those with sight shall see the light
and be engulfed by passion’s flame.

There are some who wear a ring,
a matching girl upon their sleeve.
But ‘tis the man with naked truth
who wears none but life’s finest weave.

For lust itself is like a tide,
and draws in those who’re yet to find
the vessel known to sail upstream;
guided by love, powered by dreams.

Trail of thought

I cannot think
to whom this odes,
nor do I care,
they’ll never know.
The light is low,
and in this air
my life is slow,
I cannot think.
The reason fair,
my mind doth groan,
I cannot think,
it’s blank as snow.
My life is slow,
I cannot think.
The light is low,
the reason fair.
I cannot think
to whom this odes,
nor do I care,
they’ll never know.