Her Ladyship

She's discrowned
of every right to sit back
and cast edicts upon
mindless
arrogant
disturbed
insolent
heads
and probable it is
that she'll face desperation
but until then
dreamless
ignorant
indolent
heads
will reign over her.

Kings

The power of powerlessness
Charmingly absorbing
The power in us, the flavourless grandeur
Of imperial numbness.

Dissonant liquids of perfection
Bind us to rosy states of falling
To inclined grounds.

Eternally enjoying a privileged kind
Forever saturated feebleness
Left ahead.

Thankful

Time is measured in music,
But it will never hold it back.
Life is measured in waterfalls
That with a glimpse of fire collapse.
Art is measured in skies
That encircle our days.

Time is measured in music,
Of sublime rarity and styles.
Life is measured in waterfalls
Of miraculous treasure;
Therefore, it is the art
That leads us home.

Cowardice

Who would not claim with harm being done
That better still could have been achieved?
But better still, who would return to battle?
What endangered souls are there left to hurt
And hunt down with torturous wealth of surnames?
Who would not resolve upon walking brighter paths
Since in thought good surpasses bad
Since in thought good hides well enough to hide;
But fearsome day when one inclines so.
What realm would ours turn into if many a knight left
To seek more peculiar wars and life to lose?
A realm unwanted still, and yet none suits his pride
But as for queens to bestow peace upon
Many a knight would leave. Then would he sense
The real weight of his dreamlike soul.

The watery skies
Descent to the shore
You fall.

II

In that which ever gives birth to reality
My need to raise my eyes to skies is found.
With each exchange of crystal mentality
My soul dissolves to magnificent surround.

In that which lives long before I say a word
I find sublimity of most surreal kinds
Sighs caused by morbid destruction I have heard--
Each castle is rebuilt by wittiest minds.

Time and again dreams have found no proper death.
In imagination the mind oft employs,
True that noble hearts and souls form a great set!

Illusions bestow lies upon the bare thought
True that dreams are only two in their real kind
One joins reality, other's fulfilled not.

Nightmare

The fleeting, the captured, the soulless
will not catch me until the last drop
of life falls to the ground
and leaves me still.

The horrid, the curious, the haunting
will change my thoughts the instant
I realise I am elsewhere
in other lives.

The Words that Bind

Unfold your naive eyes and then you'll find
That never has your ambition been blind.

Blank

My complex words have told nothing so far.
I am aware.
I have merely stolen a glimpse from an undying truth.
I am unsure.
I have been applauded by confined hands.
I am surprised.
My nonsense has taken the form of poetry.
I am ashamed.
My dreams have been unworthy of the paper.
I am humiliated.
I have tried to cover my faults with ineffective colours.
I am a failure.
My voice has never been strong enough to reach curious ears.
I am glad.


My complex words have given me power.
I am strong.
The truth has given me knowledge.
I am wise.
The recognition has let me perform further.
I am overpowered.
I have written verses that may not rhyme.
I am altering.
I have laid words of my own upon the page.
I am a dreamer.
I have taken care of every detail.
I am a perfectionist.
My voice has always been strong enough for me.
I am pleased.


I stand between the frigthening margins of creativity.
I will fall one day.
I build up my wings from fictional feathers.
I will fly one day.
I bring my soul together to utter a phrase.
I will be an artist.
I read another's creation and am in awe.
I will become greater.
I feel that I am much better.
I am selfish.
I know that I am the worst of all.
I need perfection.
I will complete my work someday.
But not at the moment.

*****

A faint cry will not weep for my victory
And I will rejoice.
My own joy will unravel the world...
And then I will be miserable.
I will be able to say that I have fought with dignity,
But I have lost my pride in war.
And that my sword is of an imaginary sort
But it has been left on the ground.

I

What do I own save my heart's content and joy
And must I well tend to seek a gentler thought?
Have I earned not liberation, but destroyed
The last pieces of my mind while so distraught?

My efforts with vague charms have given me strength
With haunting questions that come in great supply
Although with selfishness of tremenduous length
Provokingly demanding my final try.

What do I own now but great grief and deceit?
Must I tend to gather the falling merits?
Do I reckon well the perils I shall meet?

Will the stars ever admit to my escape?
To recall me until those uncertain times
Must anyone remember my hollow shape?

For a moment I believed
I had the truth at hand

I did not have the power
To keep it inside

But now I have the will
To learn to conceal it.

Love Poem

I did not give my prince the rarest of a feature
Nor did I let my mind overuse its powers;
My imagination reached no dark tower--
Instead I gathered that he was my creature.
I did not bestow upon him the burden of equality
Nor did I fancy that he was of other kinds
My sole fear was that of constant, blessing rarity
Instead I let other hands form his heart's designs.
I did not fail in my quest to prepare myself
For the edges of things to come henceforth
I did not want him in perfection to seek help
Instead I gave him power of a different sort.
I gave my prince the kindest of hearts
And much of a strong temper I certainly lent
To build from scratch with still unravelled parts
What, along with its completion, I will not repent.
My mind in pains feigned to forever perform
The act of creation of a beauteous soul;
Be it only a fictional remainder in an unreal storm
Maybe I shall be content; filled even with pleasure
That I created a boy, a man, whatever he be
And that through me, beyond common measure
He learnt to breathe; and I then let him free.
I did not give my prince a certain chance to win
Instead I gave him a princess to find and then protect
If he found another, which I do not mean
I'd know he could love, and that I do respect.

Calm Waters

But like the privilege that the swan was cast

To sit silent to a moment last.

I dispose of nothing of the sort.

And had I though the right to say no word

I would make use of it as if I could afford

A moment of your time.

But as I sit still, I know I'm not a swan

And I do believe I do not think like one.

Calm waters are not my home.

Alas, I know how wrongly my world inclines

But still I write my song in hope of better times.

In the end, what have I but a single choice.