Ghost of time

IPart 1. The Ghost of Time

I am the ghost that breathes in time
along your restless rhyme
the limb shatters peace
singing screams for cloaked release
I am the hymn that bares
your soul to all the stares
of wicked men and stupid
and words that beckon lucid
the crippled and the fortune
the desperate to come soon
the one’s who seek for pain
in the lessons that one gains
for falling always ageless
a seasoned death is faithless
a condiment of suffering
comes free with stuttered shuffling
The meek inherit the fool
the creep will use his tool
to poke in secret places
and mildew all these ages
with wax and rot and grave juice
in simple style to stage suit
and block the common herd
who with the gall compared
to those free given love
and reasoning above
what is their common due
their wonder when and who
I am your ghost that wanders
your wishes crushed and blunder
all gone and less be bared
to die why now be scared
It is over and then your gone
to finally belong

Part 2. A 1954 Autumn Still Life.

Now that was nothings, nothing
a place to run and hide.
A windfall in the grasses
a maggot bored inside
a wizened old man’s glasses
a restless youth confide
in what was what, so often not
and my hands are tied
in buggered up complacency
and rat face past complied
I am so often wrong you see
I let my thinking slide
an abstract thought, puts in this port
unlimbers rotten stores
and creeping there, unlikely pairs
complex for weeps loud roar
Despite is now, in common how
we grant our many tithes
that’s all the same, who is to blame?
Never once decides
to who is what and what is when
a fault in vision’s pride
comes with complete, perilous defeat
and righteous men besides
life loved living relationships
I dare you do the same
Detritus littered beaches
briny vision smell
the once that was the reason
the conscience now will tell
of slips and soothes and feelings past
for ever one that drives
because the restless reason
is not far circumscribed
to landscapes far forgotten
and parkways common lies
a multi player game complete
lest ideas lost defy.

Part 3. The Next Big Idea

Will someone now tell me
Whenever I call
That the next big idea
is bound to fall
and crush itself
in my own self importance
It should be left on the shelf
and whisper romance
to a trusting soul
or a single compliance
that will teach me a way
to ignore future claims
on my sickness and then sway
with my schemes of alliance
dreaming a future
that continues the dancing
of weakness and hoping
and building defiance
in defence of my barrier
that allows future triumph

Part 4. The Tree changes Colour

The tree changes colour
The geese have arrived
One affair for another
In this season contrived
To make all seeming futile
As time passed us by
When the tree changes colour
Our frustrations reply
To the sense of our failure
And our loss of this right
Then the geese flying over
in the dark of the night
mark the end of our wisdom
and the break in this life
when the tree changes colour
and the geese land their calling
in the dark fields of our strife.

Ghost of time


Joined January 2008

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 6

Artwork Comments

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