- Books, Literature, and Writing
~ Troubadour / Spirits of the Feast / Court of a Lesser Paradise ~
~ Troubadour ~
Symphony of sympathy,
Release thy choral swarm;
Of robin throngs' heraldic song,
Unbroken, through the dawn.
Slight fluttering puppet, above; below,
Whose resonant cheeks thro' mistral blow;
Pray, tell thee hast thou seen the face,
Whom gave birth to the human race?
And did He make a resolution,
My elevated Lilliputian;
To spread yon feast 'pon earthen dish,
A sapid worm; a silvered fish?
To barter you in heaven's rooms,
With breakfast sold for feathered croons?
Art ye now happy to feel well fed,
Whilst spying winked stars tucked up in bed?
Thenst wake teen from her very own,
Announcing that she's not alone?
Is this the reason why you sing,
Mysterious, tiny, flawless thing?
Who gaily soars upon the wing,
To fill her heart with special things.
~ Spirits of the Feast ~
" There bides a light as yet, unshone,
Where stars and lovers' eyes are from;
Whose golden arch of a trillion suns,
Hath birthed more beats than a billion drums.
Where poverty's speech dost echo wealth,
Infirmity's curse returns to health;
Where visionary themes hath longed to feel,
There, old men's dreams becometh real;
Where all caged life inside our head,
Moves in reality, instead.
A place where we can build a home,
With hearts and minds not flesh and bone;
An unseen place where Christ is king,
Who welcomes loving prayers thee bring.
So take good heart my stalwart bro's,
Thy sisters, moms, repentant hoes;
The good, the bad; the quick, the slow,
Soon, time shall sleep where we must go. "
~ Court of a Lesser Paradise ~
Q/ - Man -
" It was an early day in June thumbing warm words in a cold room when I overheard of great suffering from afar, yet could not feel their pain, only the disbelief of how an agony could survive amongst the sunshine of a new morn. The sky changed not a jot for the maimed lives and blood spilt on the radio; even those mute, grandiloquent sparkles of serenity later that evening continued henceward and unflinched in their chartered courses, seemingly oblivious to the horrors perpetrated under the auric watch of father daylight. The night offered only mild relief yet the day merely aforesaid reluctance. Would not a secret hand stay the reaper's cut I mused, and from what mighty power could there not be issued joy instead of disaster?
Their cries reached out through infinity's royal sapphire and sable veils thenst faded just as quickly as they were aroused, when hope seemed to flit behind a prism wall. Yestreen's inspirations which fired hearts seemed a country away now to this day's human tragedy, so why should one deliberate for nature as much as one does when understanding evades even the most keen perception? "
A/ - The Earth -
" Verily, I of ancient yore do not trust the sons of Adam, fair witness, so shake him violently from his apathy. Unregenerate man, a waiting cadaver, cares not for my God-given bounty so bleeds my store of golden black with nodding donkeys like an eighteenth century quack, then turns my noble stage into a desolation, transfusing slicks of midnight plasma into unholy machines in order to scourge the poor; man's new marionettes play out their 'danse macabre' until tectonic death throes swallow this nightmare show into chasms of deep abyss as I stripe the stars and capture their greed; Jaws of stone legend, I unshut upon undigestible meals of steel and flesh whilst thy volcano bretheren, chiefs of rage, spew forth a miasmic coffin lid, shrouding a century of man's folly to lamentably teach, yet again, a lesson which refuses to be learned. "