“The Time Has Come, the plumes have rung underneath their fruit tree of lumber.
Oh how the morning breeze, soothes my soul in a pool of serenity where if that pool
were a personal thing, it would show affection amongst the streams of the dawn approaching.
A good sorrow is alive today.
Never again will I search for those liars, unitl the night’s dismay. In the midst of the plutonian realm, there lurks the brother of the secret cell. The moonlight is shear insignificance on my flesh, as it whitens and turns to death.
The radiance of the stars in the sky, are a sight to be seen within tender eyes, and yet in nature, are sinful to thine eyes, Hereunto, this ungodly shore, coming forth to harbor us not with beauty nor luster, contrarily, it is with falmes and immediate plagues.
Oh, hoiw deepened a reverie is settled between the pond’s creatures, concurringly situated in a destination of the utmost fancy, as they come to and fro the fare banks.
The Time Has Come
Happiness ends, where the water’s edge is an icy void, for no creature do I view in it’s tempering depths
For now, I must be at rest for it is time.
The sun has risen, as do the birds ascend form the sapphire mountains. A songbird sings." as the phoenix sings its sorrow tune, I am beguiled, i am soothed,
relinquished from forms of bondage, crafted to detain my voice, my sounding of a trumpet magnifies those drops of bliss and again I rediscover a kiss of muse,
John Alan Hale