Clear eyes wander but are seldom blind

Clear eyes wander but are seldom blind.

Heedless is he of the hidden faces,

enshrouded in tatters, he is maligned

and the hatred - his world it replaces.

Time has ticked away on the melting clock

whilst veiling fog enwreathes the crueler folk.

Kept confined in a world become paddock,

the blundering fool - their kindness revoked.

Astray, the fool is but a sinking stone.

To him, black waters show no shades of grey.

Battered by the wicked who sit a' throne,

he wore his own mask, and for them did pray.

Clear eyes wander but are seldom blind;

poor man to others but not in his mind.

Hellfire

Alas! come the carriage defiled by nigh’

whilst charred hooves do take leave – a trail of ash.

Pale shades do reach – time doth not spare the soul –

to feast upon his living flesh; gone cold.

He who hath no fear wears the crimson robes.

Cold steel tempered by beguiling hatred –

In tainted hands doth the blade rest prepared.

At last his life doth bleed away in death.

Entranced by dark chaotic confusion

Godless angel doth descend – midnight wings. 

Hellish hounds tear savagely flesh from bone,

whilst wailing souls cry out in agony.

Lucifer doth tear crimson robes from flesh

to don as the Master of the sinner’s soul.

Hors hath bled o’er blackest of night

an’ daemon’s bellow for blackness’ return.

He, the sinner, doth harmonize and wail

as obsidian flames devour him.

Death does grin for pain – to watch the suff’ring

o’ those who have the blackest of all souls.

Ode to Winter Nights

Incessant winds amidst one’s memories –

Villainous howls from whence come wolves,

An’ winter winds whisper of atrocities –

Remembered where rots the last hunt.

Nearest the ice blackened, wind tattered groves

Rest on black ground, the spear end – blunt.

Yore the hunter did seek its prey,

Swathed in robes of black night and ice,

Led by nightly fiends, wandering astray.

Shades feast upon the daring, thrice.

Boreas doth blow bitter winds southward –

Prithee Notus greet with sun’s welcome warmth.

The wailing winds sing to the harpist’s chord,

Whilst the hunter prepares to strike,

The lady doth begin the dance of North.

The white stars dance in time alike

An’ betwixt the setting sun an’ Jack’s break

Doth the fulsome virgin lay rest.

Like stone the prey does fall to sleep awake –

At last man believes he be blessed.

Midst the Mother’s soulful wails an’ cold tears

One’s memory, become shadow,

Begun to fade away – to disappear.

A flightless bird – the fallen white –

Atop the lifeless – dead – icy meadow,

Did rest frozen in morning light.

Remainders of one’s memories lay cold,

An’ the hunter, buried, ne’er found

What sought he – the way to warm paradise.

Henceforth, he lay beneath the ground.

Incessant winds do quiet; hushing truth

An’ again it waits for the hunter’s youth.