Words spoken,

With hurt and a sharp blade of scorn.

Some relish the premise

That all life is blemished,

Cursing the days they were born.



A clothing

Of sackcloth and ashes, one vest,

To pockmark the soul,

Unfathomable goal,

For a mind that cannot find rest.



And brightened,

A frightened seeker knows more.

This journey, an adventure,

With worry and pleasure,

Can fill, with love, to the core.


Hands reaching,

Not preaching,

Mere love, from the source of all light.

One soothing call,

Voice crooning; expelling all

Darkness, from out of the night.



In churchyard ground,

The body found,

Sacred, thus profaned.


Life sacrosanct,

But not intact,

Mercy, all but waned,


But, corpse full-clothed,

No piece disrobed,

Questions need explained.


 Faithless heart,

A love departs,

Vows are unmaintained.


Love has died,

A suicide.

Hope was unsustained.

Political Correctness (When An Arse Is still An Arse)


Second reblog of my own

The title says it all and it fits the prompt!



” Come, live with me and be my love, ” poetic he,

A plea born of sincerity.

Two hearts and souls combined

With mind.

Irresistible request,

Love blest.

And time will play with both,

Burning flame to moth.

‘ Till death us part, ‘ he quoth,

And so, the two betroth.

For life and eternity.



Antithesis of chaos,

Peace – an easy loss.

Pretend the state

And softly wait,

Rotational, aspire,

Subliminal expectation and desire,

While worlds on worlds do spin,

Cloaked in meditation, peaceful soul to win.

Extruding all extraneous, cacophony and din,

Like hammered metal, steel on tin.

Peace; hand stroked, velvet-like, on moss.


Restful calm,

Sunstreaked balm,

Flimsy curtained bright,

Promises of hours ahead, being blessed and filled with light.

Silent occupation, intruding far-off sounds,

Words that flow on paper, as heart so faintly pounds.

Dedicated time, invocation to the host,

Prayerful meditation, no pride or senseless boast.

Solace in the silence; to God, a joyous toast,

Blessed be light, encroaching – filling heart, the most.

Minutes tick so slowly, while dawn ensures no harm.