in sleep there are no mysteries
that dash and dim the glass of dreams
there’s only time untold to eyes
for treading through such reveries
unwinds the truth for what it seems
and fantasy tells no lies
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
after
smoke has settled
and the ground’s soaked up the red
after
night has tucked her blade
and left to break her bread
after
all the wanderers
have lined up foot to head
after
I have buried them
and laid them into bed
I am not my father’s son
though he may stir and grip his gun
I am not the army’s man
I left them long ‘fore I began
I am not a child of war
though hardened is my heart to gore
I am just the aftermath, you see.
after
words have crumbled
and there’s no one left to weep
after
time has torn apart
what we once swore to keep
after
all the wayfarers
have drifted fast asleep
after
I have wondered why
my song had not been reaped
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
What is worth our agony
if not the glory that will be
seized from stone in steely fort
and forged from molten foes cut short?
Is it worth our agony
to bloody limbs whilst bending knee
before a marble man who stands
upon the backs of his right hands?
Tell me, what is agony
but a dead man’s twisted plea
that drowns in rushing copper cries
until the slave’s last whimper dies?
Who is spared from agony?
I tell you, neither you or me —
for honor makes fools of us all,
bound by oath until we fall.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
Follow me, roamer,
and together we’ll touch
fortune’s fickle fingers and
the lips of the sky —
follow me, dreamer,
and no height is too much,
for no fears shall linger when
tomorrow we fly.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
She was a sparkplug,
arms crossed, lips smug,
her roulette refined,
her fate stamped and signed —
diciest dame you’d ever find.
She was a renegade,
twisting tongues was her trade,
born with brass between her teeth,
a clockwork heart ticking beneath —
a queenly ace tucked up her sheath.
She was a sparkplug,
wayfarer whiskey was her drug,
with a corset pin
and a bottle of gin,
she redefined the depth of sin.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
Restless is the wanderer,
inconstant are her itching feet
that cannot bide the ties of time
or ramble the well-travelled streets.
Nothing more than ‘fixed’ she fears,
and ‘settled’ stirs her skin with snakes —
adventure and the unknown steers
her into strange and thrilling stakes.
With each mountain matched and scaled
the lines across her map unravel,
for the wanderer can’t be nailed
in her life of constant travel.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
He was some forsaken singer,
rhymes lost, dead ringer
for that ol’ road-weary trope
of the dying antelope
that wonders, spilling strong,
why no one can hear his song.
He was some wrought-iron castaway,
steel-tamed yet fit for flay,
just a fat ol’ fish, hook in lip,
‘tween the old man’s knees, ’bout to slip,
wondering how the water could be
so cold above his cobalt sea.
He was some shriveled, paper poet,
mildewed months, wrinkles to show it,
resolved to ink sparrows into the sky,
to prove that words with wings could fly —
he wondered, tongue poised on the stars,
if time would ever stitch his scars.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
I like the way your lashes curl.
They’re shy, they are,
but they’re hiding stars —
I like the way your smile unfurls.
Oh, how you think it curious
that one could write of lashes
or compare smiles to caches
(for yours hides treasure, you know).
But my words aren’t spurious,
though you don’t see that, do you?
my heart, it goes right through you
(I’d weep; nothing’s left to show).
Fathoming’s a feat of faith,
and faith’s a gift I demand from you.
Greed can grant me this one request —
my question naked: is it true?
Are you blind to understanding?
Or is my notion of it skewed?
How can you beat the one I love?
How can you lie and turn your face?
How can you hurt the one I love?
How can you treat her with disgrace?
How dare you beat the one I love.
How dare you try to dispose of
the lashes that curl
the ones I like
the pure-hearted girl
the smile I like
the untarnished pearl
the heart I like.
Love.
Because I like the way your lashes curl,
it’s selfish, I know, and I realize,
but I love the way your smile unfurls —
now if only you would open your eyes.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
Solitary, somewhere
stark
solitary, somewhere
dark
solitary, I
embark.
Embittered by the blind
who see
resentful of the safe
who flee
unforgiving to the rich
who plea
offended by
hypocrisy.
Purpose I will chase,
I swear
meaning I will trace,
I dare
the truth I will embrace,
but where?
Solitary, somewhere
stark
solitary, somewhere
dark
solitary, I
embark.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
We who tread through endless night
and know the secrets of the earth,
we who bear the spirit light
and hold the threads of death and birth.
We who’ve touched the untold planes
and sang the songs of gods undone,
we who’ve mastered wind and rain
and forged great power from the sun.
We who conjure back from bleak
ancient hymns both blessed and tragic,
we who never cease to seek —
we who practice and preach magic.
© 2015 Stellular Scribe
Stellular Scribe 