Crowmanic

Spilt wine as blood from fractured glass
seeps through the sands of life,
as the mist of Doubt is vanquished
with the clouds of un-Reality
that clog the once-Born mind.

... desperate mothers wail into the night,
in hopeless despair for their children’s plight.
... smelt the burning flesh of a man,
who in desperation torched his life with his own hand.

Sterling kings, and child-like things,
my love upon your hand gold ring.
Sweet chariot the race is run,
swing low my darling oh what fun.

I hear my thoughts of what has been —
between these walls and the silent me.

Sleepless days, there is no time,
the ‘morrow is a day behind.
Prophets from the desert come,
UFOs, aliens won.

Sounds no more —
why, what for?
Peals of laughter,
toll bell rings.