Hurled Into The Depths
cloaked in the dark waves of a Kachikau winter night;
the last faint gleam of hope glide,
scared out my wits, no one by my side,
who can i trust?
The Remnant Of Leteng
When they imprisoned our minds into the grave...
among the dead we found breathing bones,
When they crucified our bright crude crave...
some of us died battling a way out
The Last Cry Of The Soul Of A Dying Poet
My heart is wrapped with codes of death;
future foreshadowed by doom and gloom,
i fade away like a lengthening shadow
but thou i die, this i've been graced with will die not,
Nested in the far deep,
beyond the the distant tuples of moreish smiles,
beyond the reach of a dayheat intoxicated sleep
faraway but not too long if you walk a few extra miles,
Don'T Stand Before My Grave And Weep
Don't stand before my grave and weep;
For like poetry I only die in theories of my sleep,
'Rather merry with aromatic culinary mead,
Until myriad tear-tribes flow from your eyes and bleed.
On My First Call To Ingratiate Myself With The Poets
I fathered that night to dawn and hit the roadway early,
If i remember well Kachikau was waving hazily and giving a wry grin!
I paused for a moment twiddling thumbs of my chaffed hands,