The Form

It takes but a moment, yet lingers for a lifetime,

Such is the mystery, 

Of dust and the shape of sand,

Of waves and the alchemical moon, 

Like freedom caged in verse and words,

Indifferent to change, still inimicaly altered.

Such things speaks of a nature, 

Adherening to the desire,

That pulses, and reshapes, 

Reshapes and regains,

New meanings, new understanding,

An attempt, nothing more, 

To leave a part, a living part, 

So as to be remembered,

In quest of the flaw, 

For being remembered, is being immortal.

And that is all there is, such is all there shall.

The Day We Stand.

Feel free to fear, and dear to dread,

Ye, searchers of true happiness.

In quaint ways, do stumble and fall,

Bloodied, broken, as alone as all.

Gather wind, must tempest sing,

In wails mourning bygone days, 

Just as each stone is tempered bone,

So are all legends, stories sown.

Let nightmares guide, your quest of truth,

Each martyr a milestone honed in ruth,

To find, and find, the pledge of faith, 

By life’s sorrow, and peace of death.

Rest not till blood, gushes white,

Rest not till withers hardened lies,

Rest not till tomorrow touches dawn,

Rest not till each is on his own.