Cosmos
thru the wakened shadows like a stream of winged delight
flies the ancient ever spinning earth and all its glories past.
In the cold despair which looms upon the shadows of the dawn
lies a twisted cursed shaft of light which knocks upon the gates.
in the ever curling moment near a timeless blinking eye
pass the tired and weary sundrops on a gliding whence they came.
like the fires down beneath him, the mad usher sings,
of the everlasting peaceful quietness
of sleeping rocks in outer space.
Too many of the suttle things which shape our lives and world
isee the end which is the start of many things which spin around
and drift away to silent sleep with shadows ringing in my ears.
Still i suffer endless clutter like a desk too badly used .
My art is but a part of what a great being once bemused.
The sense lies in the channel of the words which i scream,
as i talk for lots of voices hidden further in a dream
- For Lydia
A selection, chosen by Lyd: