The Artist

On a bleak summer day,

A face all old and broken with lines,

Peeked through the window,

Eyes shinning with guilt,

As he stole from behind the curtain,

Moments of men,

So that he could carve,

In the stagnant listlessness of his home,

A myriad tale of love and loss,

To hang by the fireplace,

For all to witness and whisper about,

A myth, a saga, a tragedy,

A lie to give life, 

To him who never lived 

And lives no more,

But exists like a monument, his masterpiece, 

Holding in it’s silence, secrets of the centuries.

Haiku : The Sculptor

The man sat as statue,

Aware that the marble round his bones,

Was flesh in the making.

TRANCE

I stood long,

And watched the supine sky,

Dwindle into darkness,

Until the drops of conscious trickled,

And the truth slowly dawned,

That the dusk has never arrived,

But it was I who had closed my eyes.

Shadow

I am a shadow,

Thus I cannot blink,

When studying the cold blindness,

Of this smooth, molten world. 

I am a shadow,

Sliding into Oblivion,

As formless as infinite,

And as helpless as one.

I am a shadow,

Paraphrasing mute words,

Raging amidst masses ,

In thread like ripples.

I am a shadow,

Curious and quite,

Like iron draped in rust,

Neath veil of silver light.

I am a shadow,

I reign on the line,

Nothing farther than thy far,

Nothing nearer than mine.

I am a shadow,

And I speak of night’s past,

As I sailed under starlight,

And people’s twin hearts.

I am a shadow,

Spurred on by flaw

With Equanimity my armor,

And ambiguity my law.

I am a shadow,

And I whisper through the ages,

Sifting stained pages of history,

Marking epoch and phases.