The Moon shines listlessly
its dim and yellow light
onto the thoughts that rise
to enter small eternal folds
of cold crevasses, dark.
He pauses by the fields
and ponders life itself.
No lightning strikes,
no thunder spoils the night,
and silence reigns
above the mist,
where human hands just raised
remain unseen.
He feels it now
but knows within his heart
that raindrops bring no joy
to those who stand alone,
and words,
etched into stone
will weather storms
but fade
before forever takes his hand.
They performed on a stagewith old Rolf in a cageand she took him (so clever) to Paris.On the top of the Eiffel Towerwhen the clock struck the twenty-third hour,he was left in the rainlooking down on the Seinebut he really had needed the shower.
and when I get to within inches of your fenceI’ll plan the little deed, to take your hide.And cut into small strips your DNA,with care I shall then yield the stainless bladeit is the Devil’s method, if one will not pay,reserved for members of the Scum Brigade.Night falls each day and vultures like sunsetthey’ll fight…
Conquer all and take the goldthrough extremely quick and boldstrikes into the heart of man,while talking of the aimed for banof weapons to subdue and maim,they have no shame, they have no shame.Who is at fault here you may ask,but finding out – a useless task,what’s clear beyond the slightest doubtis that old George and…
Or do you join me now in being quite aghastabout the travesty of humans, do you dare?Have you, my friends of now and of the distant pastmet one whose scent through scentless cyberwaves has cometo me as waves of blossoms, pheromones, at lastand kept me up when all the people did succumbto silly notions of…
his head protected by a hoodand his demeanour still.A raven, passing in the nighthad dropped a single seedonto the soil from awesome heightnear to a tumbleweed.The wind near rivers often swaysin its determination,its harshness on occasion slaysnew budding vegetation,the tumbleweed was blown downstreamby icy waters’ gracethe daffodil had been a dreamand such a pretty face.The…
nor could it be a covert messageof a dislike, born out of disappointment.No, nothing as mundane as that.You have now relegated meto that forsaken place outsideof all our worlds, onto a scrapheap.What little history we had, you did condenseand squeeze it with the energy of angerthough not quite indignation, too noble, that.You have abandoned me…
