RSS Feed

Tag Archives: rhythm

A Castle’s Tale

Deep beneath the castle’s walls, stands a tunnel century’s old.


Hidden well below where the moat runs most foul, is a boulder grand yet hollow, which dictates the opening, of ancient earth, connecting this world to the world beyond, so seldom known as creation’s first.


The height and width alter and vary greatly, shrinking where the elves were rumored to had carved for days, then enlarged to immense depths, whence the seabirds wept and the dactyl’s flew, which coincided neatly to the point when the giants crawled to take cover from the magma storm. Deep down under they would surge and bore, pushing into the passage from the caves and homes left alone way up high.


Candles filled with fragrant oils live in secrecy still, taking but a match to time a glimmer, resurrecting the shadows of the past below back to life in the present now.


Months can be lost, at peril’s cost, if wandering is what one will chance in order to protect their life.  For the tunnels sprawl in every direction, multiplying to impossible dimensions far and wide, this was to prevent the insurgencies of marauders, thieves and skulled vermin alike.  If the route be found by afflicting scourge, increase it would, through impossibly dim and unadvisable paths, with traps that trick and rocks built to slip as foot nestles into loosely designed crags and lifts, all constructed by lantern’s light, to the staunch delight of the ancient inventor’s chiseled face, thusly decreasing the likelihood of escape by the wayward travelers misguided fate.


It is said, of those last to live during such a time, when dragons roamed the horizon tall, and the tunnels were alit each the seasons from winter and back to fall.  It was here, at such a time, that there the legend spoke of be claimed, as only a single cipher man could see, and that being one truth above else and all.  This one chance to find direction, the one possibility to maneuver safely through, to direct pathways where there where otherwise none, could only be found by those travellers moving from aristocracy and out into a rebirth of primacy, only found outside, beyond the castle’s historic, if not infamous golden walls.


The legend also states, that the only manner to map one’s way, is to stand immovably still, and reflect deep inside and let the heart and soul adjust to present time, thus stirring a merger of space and self, melding together the directions and the key, which alone creates the light to see the many paths as they be, true and real as man himself ought to be.  This light to guide shall be for the pure alone and it shall lead to the farthest point from the castle’s walls, where a gate stands, to which the traveller will insert the key and thence sing of freedom’s song, as journey be done, unlocking the last of the ancients hidden mysteries.




The Barren Vine

Barren child, ripened vines

Patchwork a solaced frame


Betwixt, the shaded hollows of

Piercing tine and annealed vein


Broken bairn, stare not deep,

Unto trespassed eyes lacking name


Lest withered rinds braid forth the tokens to

Beckon close the guileful lilt procuring Charon’s flame




Whence unabridged shepherd’s falter liege,

Soundly, fore after, a dawdling wind conspires,

Dredging forth a caustic river’s dry,

Uncovering each misnomers turbidity of desire


Imprudent trails falsely shying flocks upon,

The seeded straits of vagary’s dream,

Inflicting thy aspersion’s a latticework of cursed folds

Contrasting derma’s blaze with viscera’s frosted seams



Of excess, comes a certainty

A surfeit exposed, where engorged

The hunger grows, settling for naught,

Nonesuch less the equally exposed

Quaintly more, than that, of the satiety of human kind,

Often found alone, in the cauldron’s chambers

Where gluttony proudly boasts


In seek of remedy; we delve deep,

Clasping insanity’s target arranged,

Bathing in the afterbirths of teardrops,

The masked blatancies in malady,

Hence, eyes alter lens and hue,

Slowly merging away, altering the being

That once thrived beneath a skin so cruel

Intrinsic Fires Woefully Set Ablaze


Teething under an open fire—

Like a lobo lost amongst a pathless green—

Dichotomous conflagrations

pillaging the frightened veils of

forestry for all its pent-in wares,

often measured against and for

the occasional incendiary

laden-clad in a ribose blanketing

of the singed solutions

most commonly referred to as

a caustic curve of emblazing



Like the blistered bark foundering beside

The ‘boisterous fiefdom’s Burk-bred lineage—

Where and of, a never-close-to-humble callous grey—

Embellishes the fertile floes of icy strains—

Indicating, with an utter lack of soothing decree,

the purge of passage, for those once sent astray—

exiled to verdurous plains of Coventry—

where the never docile embellishing’s

find their tenets bound and soaked—

in the gritty absolution burdened

with and by, the venal aftershocks that linger amidst the swords that swallow long the flagrancies left haranguing the vast seas of cauldron’s past and near—

Over the encompassed quickening, in-steps that brood exonerating quarks of sparks in-kind—

Wrenched the stilled beating of life’s vultures, sweltering in the casks of curdling time—

from the steps and rungs known so well, past the enmity of a forlorn wizard’s locking tierce—and of each its relegating dormancies—en masse

collectives of burgeoned sin—

painting sweet the tinder skies—parsing quick the calming cameos emoted in the unleavened serenades of far-too charming rhythmic tithing’s intellectually etched tempests of design

Harmless benediction, mud stained sediments settling upon the ever-omitted flecks of ossien—unceremoniously unforgiving tortured tongues denigrated to acerbically induced
parsimony—where enmeshed fractals chart the skein—where one’s softened shields striate deep, the egregious acumen of patella’s scorn


Fractures to slivery shards

Moments before the placating trek around the sagacious honoring of wisdom’s once vivacious tree of ever-lasting phrenic economy

Full circle returns anew.

Baby Bird

Baby bird, why don’t you chirp no more?
Little star, have you forget the direction back to me? Just two steps forward, just two steps forward

Where do they begin, these chance encounters you and me find ourselves in?
Are they for real, or simply living solely my dreams? Archived and pinned, archived and pinned

Oh, child,
I spent the last few hours
Answering all the when, how, and why’s
And I’m much further away from you tonight,
Then I’ve ever been before, and I could die, I just could die

Sorry If I think too loud.
Sorry if my desires push you around
to places you’re unwilling to walk,
in languages you hate to talk

If you feel uncomfortable, please, let me know
I’m unwilling to lose you again, but if you want me to, I’ll go, I’d go
So, if letting you go, is the only way
I can have you forever, I’ll wipe those tears away, ya hear, I’ll wipe those tears away
And they’ll taste sweeter than the all the others, all the rest,
That I’ve shed thinking about you, your eyes, and all the rest, all the rest

Baby bird, sing me that song, the one you sang for me
When we were K-I-S-S-I-N-G under that big old apple tree
Little child, sing for me once more, oh please chirp for me again
And if that’s the last I ever hear, well, baby bird, oh little child, those words be heaven sent, them words be perfect then, those words be perfect then,
Oh baby bird, oh little child