I Am Neither
Here Nor There
I am neither here,
nor there
Those in their
disquiet
Thrust me
hence..
From their own
despair
Shan't then it
ever be written
Of the girl once
with the golden hair
Swept from
history,
The finest lace, I
once fared.
I am everywhere,
yet I am nowhere
A cross stands
alone,..
But lost in
between
A candle blows out
swiftly
My reflection, no
man sees
Woes that have
befallen.
They lie.
Their tongues,
forked as they walk.
Such horrors no
man should witness
A card played
indifferent
A full hand,
always wins over the Heart.
I now see I am
alive
But alone in the
distance
The hollow from
whence I was thrown..
All I can hear in
the distance..
Perhaps the
clatter from a cistern?
Impossible to
know
I lie down
I gaze at my
impending existence
I look down with
impunity
At my immodest,
unstitched cloth
I wonder who wears
them now..
If they would have
done..
What I knew I
must..
There is a
candle
It glows from a
light above the beams
I gaze upon its
lambent
Turned inward
Faces I see
Of those I have
lost
But Those with
hollow eyes
Haunt my ever
present dreams
I am neither here
nor there
But in time
taken
You will perhaps
see
The girl once with
the golden hair
Looking for the
blaze of the candle
You will surely
recognize me
From my immodest,
unstitched seams.
If You Wish To Blind
Me
If you wish to blind me, cut
out forth my eyes
If you wish to deafen me go
forward by cutting out my tongue
Yet be not deceived that you
can silence me
For then, your world will
burn
If you wish to find
me
To your own, tread
lightly
Those which came before,
shall tell you
It will be of no bereft than
to silence me
Deeds done
unanswered
Should you so wish to
hear
Come swiftly as they come in
silence
Ask then, what have you
become?!
If you wish to blind
me
Or cut away my
tongue
Soon should you find
me
In the house
broken
Oaths delude
Where once sat the
son
Frightful are such
things
To be said on vanquished
days
To where you first found
me
To the knife which with you
tried to blind me
Hither thoughts
now
For they are done
Unrighteous deeds
uncovered
As your knife proved not
sharp enough
Your wit not bright
enough
To cut away neither my eyes,
nor my tongue
Many Men Doth
Not Know
Many men doth not
know
How their actions
do they show
Whether be them a
dandy
Or ones that hide,
with a cup.. full of brandy
You may think the
night will hide you
What things you
have wrought..
Such a slippery
slide
When one is so
blind
Not to see..
The ever so
constricting knot
Parade while you
can
Twisted limbs with
slanted plans
But your
intentions are not so craft
The path you
walk
Unlike, the
righteous road
That other men
walk
As your duplicity
grows
The imposture
shows
Memories cast,
Poison is often
found
Silent forged
Into infectious
bones
A life now left
without meaning
No words left to
craft
Heed these words
spoken
Wounds are thrust
backwards,..
Often broken
Wraps ghostly
fingers
Tightening.
Do you yet feel
it's grasp?
Grim words are
wrapped in twine
Many men doth not
know
Dastardly deeds,
revealed in time
For the
fornamed
Your name not yet
disclosed
But the ghostly
knot
Soon be felt a
swift
Between your
stipped and naked plot
Count backwards if
you can
Five fingers on
each hand
Forsaken numbers
will soon wail
What many men soon
will tell
Of the pervasion
of the man
This, the tale of
what men, knoweth not.
To Be One Man's Wit
To be of one man's
wit
What tales would make him
fit?
Coins that rattle as he
goes
Or the streets, in which he
slows
Into places we go
unknown
Our Shadows
follow
But will not us
show
The sound of soft whispers
in your ear
Could be the sound of
thunder..
Somewhere near
We gather as we
grow
Away from the
storm
Or so the story
goes
To be of one mans
wit
Is a tale of many
A tale, perhaps one of
flit
But as all stories
go
The ending is not as it
shows
So heed the whispers you
hear in your ear
Should they not be of
warning
Of a lurking
shadow,..
Somewhere, near.
Am I Quaint or
Am I Brittle
Am I quaint?
Or am I
brittle?
Such words
said
But ones, not so
simple
Words that we
pray
Trifles that we
play
Knelt, as we
stand
A table, sits
beneath
Small, and
simple
What covers also
holds
Onto the ever
loving fast
Longing for the
love
Love which did not
last
I am quaint
I am brittle
I am the one that
writes these riddles
I write to those
who pray
Under a table, too
small, too simple.