Halcyon Years
A silent, no-frame structure
Vacuums into the edges of outer space
And into the abyss of its soft parade;
Stark in colour, bare of bone,
It disperses into a phantom gift
Away, away into its funeral pyre it goes

Beyond the gates held with folly's gold,
It steers away into the immense distance,
Galloping with nostril agony, further than time can tell

Symphonies of orchestral arrangements
Muddle the silenced doom;
Brooding like gentle spirits
Over the creature's still and pulseless world

Father, father, light of feathered book,
For all that we borrow,
Gestured 'peal still follows;
Naturally and evenly,
Through shallow gravestone
Here, where I and many others among me
Pronounce freedom as liberty
Whose library of dulcet lyre,
Falls from cruel winds
Where empty voices
Choose to wilt, in solitary company,
Over an overshadowed herald sun

We accept time,
Where peace no longer bides
Day-night solitude,
Reformed of our midnight sire

We'll join and reembark
Bold pilgrimages, rabid journeys
Through repetition and truth

Dove in time of spring to lyre,
Call from muse of denizens fate
Is it from the thence, precious time,
Or from the heap and the funeral pyre?
Strong vane surmounts the spire,
And the spire surmounts the heap
I think, is it bare of saint, or bare of charms?