If only time would run like a river,
yet into the opposite direction...
The Days Of Old
In the days of old...
Crawling across the cement then
spindling from a web of...
Naked, bare, a mere tree stands waiting
as the sun sets, bringing a moonless night...
I sing of heroes.
Of Achilles and Patroclus...
Havoc, why do you stomp so readily
On the lives of the innocent man...
No one wants to be alone
Yet all are lonely...
I thought I heard a cuckoo today
Chanting gaily a morning psalm...
By a silver stream she knelt
-waiting- watching streaks of life...
From passing storm with trying times,
my vessel worn from smeared begrimes...
"This is the day which the Lord hath made we...
Through fingers sifting grains of sand...
Lately it feels like time
has kicked up her skirt...