Murder, A Fellow?

With nowhere to go;

a pleasant end from hello,

is always then murder, a fellow?

I knew by the plaid;

he’d always been mad,

but driven to murder, a fellow?

Whichever one sees;

why would I keep a friend

who could murder a fellow with ease?

I'll Write Her a Novel Someday

Every verse had been unforgettable,

But apart, each verse is a fray

And presently, I can’t seem to spare a word,

So I’ll write her a novel someday

We’re willing to hurdle the obstacles,

Because an unbridled day is ahead

And at the end of the day, I’ll write it by night,

Then say I was sleeping instead

It’ll come once I’m ready to recollect,

I have fragments, but the entire design

I foresee every line, inspired by diamonds,

That are rough until I make them shine

I don’t believe in unfinished destiny

I’m on borrowed time to bide,

And I promise if you promise to wait for me,

So I can patiently wait by your side.

Austerity of Air

The illusive autonomy of pain,

that veils the vital pair:

Ubiquity of purpose, and

austerity of air

So idle, until the moment

to tear the fetters free

Let drag your former chains behind,

then shackle them to me

It’s a willful burden born by love;

a love that bears all things

A love; autonomous like pain,

but illustrates the Springs

I would live in recluse before I’d die;

without this fellowship

And with only calls to mind inside,

Surely, surely I would slip.

There Gathered Silences

Here, they say, encased by brick

and copper buttresses,

beneath a ragged banner --

there gathered silences

Where empty lofts, once built for hymns,

now echo memories;

of the ringing in her elder walls,

that rang for centuries

The unwilling abdications;

by slander, or by sleuth

When many silences of trust

was silence of the truth

A pounding on the heavy door

split our placidity

As if they’d been forgotten,

“It’s me!” they called, “It’s me!”

Knowledges, Unbounded

That blinding iridescence

of unfolding intellect,

and knowledges, unbounded;

imagination left unchecked.

Until that final trumpet-blow

to quell the battlefield,

I’ll march beside the drummer boy

without a thing to wield.

Can you beat dawn to sunrise

as the newest day unfurls?

When light overflows the hillsides;

of diamonds and of pearls.

Shelved amongst the readings

of prophecies, untold

to those who asked for nothing, but

awareness of the world.

Continuation of "I Lived On Dread; To Those Who Know" By Emily Dickinson

I lived on dread; to those who know         

The stimulus there is

In danger, other impetus

Is numb and vital-less.                     

As ‘t were a spur upon the soul,

A fear will urge it where

To go without the spectre’s aid

Were challenging despair.

Before horizons, ‘tween beyond

And paths whence I had trod

Unwittingly, and never knew

A more omniscient God.

Still singed and cloaked, a casket

Has glibber a veneer

A pauper’s grave, vapidity,

To live and die in fear!