Too many days I've spent beyond
the hills and hollows close to home
wearing thin familial bond
every time I chose to roam.

And, yes, I have seen many things
which are seldom seen elsewhere.
I've heard when winter's silence rings,
watched bucks rut without a care.

Once in November I saw a play.
A mother bob cat teaching young to hunt
just after frosty break of day
(their "prey" was aware of their stunt)

Lying on my bed,
the silence
is too loud,
ringing
in my head

Anger fades
out of sight
but in my heart
a stubborn pride
resides

Rising restlessness
my mind aches
from solace denied
by the sting of
malice

My soul is
a cracked mirror,
a distorted
self reflection
of self-loathing ,
blooming in colour

My fingertips explore soft, silky strands
that loop in auburn curls, all tinged with gold,
and tangle, oh so gently, in my hands,
as if they never want let go their hold.

I stare in pure, adoring, dumb devotion,
believing, truly, heaven here has come,
while sinking into double depths of ocean
that seem to say, 'I'll never leave you Mum.'

I lay awake a night of squalling rain
and list for that I heard once long ago,
of pipe and string that plied a mournful strain,
an Elfish song of sorrow, sage and slow.

‘Twas heard by me the first when but a child,
a song of ruthe amidst a nameless storm.
Though lyricless it spoke of faith defiled
and false respect that took a heinous form.

When quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
when ink is but a shade of red,
then all they'd spell are woes and pains,
and stories of less happy ends.

Where all we tread is out of lamps,
and quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
then how to feet happy iambs,
the lands we live are all insane.

When all the words just yell in vain
in lands that turn to battle fields,
and quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
can the words be then a real shield?

The air I breathe is of the dead or dying

words spew forth from swollen cracked lips
all that is heard through the spittle and hiss
are lies cleverly phrased

These acidulous tears are shed for no one
but a love lost
energy expelled in rage

Through eyes set ablaze
by Zeus's hand
I watch the demise of woman and man
sanctioned and doled out
by my own hand

I walk through the world of the living
but live in the realm of the dead
know ye well
that Damien Stryker goes on