The Strings of Silence

Listening
reason starts to float into
the ballads of dancing notes
played on strings of forgotten resting place
brothers of dangling sparks of firewood
clings wistfully on brooks of spring
Yonder, lies bedtime stories
distant bells that chime of worries
that sink into immortal remembrance
Fading

Awaiting the End

time, refuses to go any faster
like an old battered snail
on the upslope to everest
sinking its fangs into my skin
with every micrometre it trods

Blemished Blasphemy

Blaming the black bleak sky
For taunting us with rain
Reinserting irrational bullshit
Into the red rusty rumours of yore
Colouring the crimson crowns of creased crutches
In the windows of mentality
Freeing the forceful fiery frost of the gruelling gambles
In eternity’s redefined predisposition
Aimless extrapolations juxtaposed with torn tenacity in premature perceptions
Cling on to mortality

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 10

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. 20

Waves

They sing nature's endless symphony
Sometimes in call and response
Sometimes in echo to they own reassuring ballads
Sometimes in a luscious and dramatic chorus
Belting out in joyous harmonies
The multitude of earth's timeless magnificence