Rolling hills and butterflies

He plods along
his head hung low,
his past and future
he drags in tow

And dreams as hope
then slowly dies,
of rolling hills
and butterflies

With a steady gait,
this fool of time,
just plods along
life’s hellish climb

And left alone
he bears his wait,
he bares his soul,
and bears his hate

Thus in his mind
he wants to hide,
with wings of dust
o’er pastures wide

Until his steps
lead him one day,
where he can go
to fly away

Slight

slight of mind
from others blind
slipping grip, and left behind

bear nine tail
no pleading wail
shifting whip, of self assail

slight the land
oft then brand
slitting drip, will not withstand

noose the pall
with echo’s call
splitting lip, his id befall

scars and stains
of shattered brains
stripping thrip, of what remains

Pendalogues

Pendalogues of lamplight

Falling down the stony stares

Tripped when realization dawns

That no one really cares

Swaying absentmindedly

Inured to dulcet voices

Hollow in the lamplit room

Immured by darkened choices

– ◈ –

Pendalogues of madness

That feed the freshet down below

Turn crystal pools of sadness

To sanguine shores that overflow

Neither vestige of a memory

Nor stain of blood-soaked tear

All that’s left is emptiness

Like there was while living here

Company

The inkwell tumbles over welkin and wit;
her seething susurrations invite slumberous disregard.
The puissant voluptuary,
the sadist,
the con,
swallows me with magmatic lips,
melting resolve and self-control.

Fervid angst transudes through saucers
into lacustrine stains
and chilling horripilation;
restrained by fists of silk and ichor ropes.

She chases me through my tenebrous id,
past the inescapable eyes of lecherous flies,
the cunning guise of treacherous lies,
and emotional moors of sanguinolent dyes.

Her torment reigns until sunlight laves the room,
and she discards the ossified remains
of this tremorous calyx.

I watch in awe, rent and raw, through smaragdine diaphaneity,
as others wake from restful repose. And I wonder how…

Yet,
ever alone,
I anticipate nightfall, lachrymal, and her unwelcome company.