Begone

Damn ye! Dusty phantoms of bygone days,
a’casting gaze of hunger unto morrow’s shore
There in the midst of rambling fools,
with regret rest forgetten ye dusk of faded years.

In pursuit of nightmares (Dreams of a fundamentalist)

What heathen mons of churning breath,
in ferity spurn who, writhing death;
can’st in retort to such howls of they,
serve madness to those mad astray.
Fore these thunderous furies ground
to desperate fools such luring sounds,
beware the gods of men less meant
Sierra! the gods of dreams misspent.

Fallen.

Dare say, no longer breathes herein
this dust the prospect of great things,
I; for there no longer is of worth
to verses, night to conquest, dreams;
solicit plight amidst akin descent
must I, from equal sin and too regret;
asunder torn for is this phantom self
from fate, evoked and whispered true.

Of those dreaming and that dreamt

Whence only didst I awoke but verdant,
upon the myriad descendants of light
didst gaze and found within them refuge
sought by darkness, forsaken by day.
T’was only in the finite of all the boundless,
only in the vanquished of all unconquerable
nature of god and mountains and men
didst I find the dreaming and the dreamt.

Peshawar

Fore the last day sets upon our silence,
we shant leave light whilst saving grace,
but falter and falter until such violence
shall fill our souls beyond past’s trace
and for our wounded and our departed
we shant leave light whilst saving grace,
but madden our gentle and placid hearted
resolve until madness can mark our place.
Do not mourn falling children of babel
leave not this light whilst saving grace,
but in sought vengeance do freely revel
and let not that night our freedom efface.
Wallow and over in such anguish again
that light may pity before it must fade
that night may fear your dark and then
let blood for blood be what is paid.

Eventuality of All Good Things

Wherever hangest a fruit of heaven,
If thou wert to come upon it someday,
surely shalt thou taste its nectar,
and on thy palette shall not reside
ecstasy, for it beist most evanescent,
faith, for is thine most capricious,
love, for it bears concupiscence,
but loss, for thou shalt cherish a memory.