Will a restless soul

Will a restless soul find peace?
a lone wanderer shall always tire,
lost within like withered trees,
who will light his funeral pyre?

alone in his madness he walks,
never a part of a greater whole,
no company, to himself he talks,
longs for imprint of another soul;

how end his solitary foray,
who will stand by his side,
all pass through, none stay,
he walks with a sturdy stride;

life has tossed him to drift away,
must fight to reconquer his way.

I am downright filthy

I am downright filthy,
reeking of self pity,
glad to be wealthy,
yet shame of impurity;

wish to burn alive,
curing me of disgrace,
bees have a hive,
I have no one to face;

there will be a new dawn,
where I turn the tides,
a new vigour will be born,
be immersed in joy rides;

it isn’t question of me rising above,
but how many I drag out of their low.

Anchored

The ships with people have left port,
why do you still loiter here,
what ecstasy seek, whom court,
is it the seas that you fear?

I bow my head in shame,
for I fear the sea of change,
my painful life will be forever same,
yet there is a lure of the strange;

I now lack the guts to sail away,
yet I can still dream and hope,
someday I be on the sea’s sway,
sailing away from pain me dope;

now that is a journey I’ve forever planned,
but what use for I am anchored to land.

I salute the wise

I salute the wise and warm aged,
though they don’t like to be reminded,
will I grow old like this caged,
with my life a drag never mended;

if it were so let me now perish,
hope for joy is what makes me tick,
create sweeter memories to cherish
stamp imprint on world with a kick;

Will I in painful solitude grow old,
can fate be that cruel and me that bold,
will I find my herd as my story unfold,
will I be truly happy before I go out cold;

the years passed have been unkind,
the years ahead shall blossom as I unwind.

(Blog) Birds

Why do they come in? the (blog) birds,
only to fly away,
capturing my heart with mystic words,
then push astray;

long comforts given a weary soul,
you say not any more,
where to go? how become whole?
where find tales of yore?

crave, not all, but the familiar few,
brave three hundred,
now not even three, where rest of you?
why have you fled?

I still believe, when battle comes roaring,
in that need, you’ll fly to my side soaring.

Here we stand naked

Here we stand naked,
with our wares on display,
few ashamed, many expectant,
as toys in a grand play;

we are judged and rated,
few relished, many discarded,
what cruelty this atrocity,
a race on, to be awarded;

not hidden exposed in total,
beauty or the flaws obscure,
yet for some, beautiful all naked,
they the true connoisseur,

some don’t relish such scrutiny,
truly beautiful in their brutish mutiny.

She was the angel of death

She was the angel of death,
he a defeated mortal in pain,
he prays for her still breath,
saying ‘not yet’ she spares his vein;

the devil of life has him in thrall,
tempting him sore with wonders,
making him croon and crawl,
a sorry tale of unspoken blunders;

each man a success, destiny’s child,
dig hard and deep, never quit,
don’t wait, seize now to dance wild,
journey matters much as end hit;

he finally finds joy in a new pathway,
the angel comes to take him far away.