Tales

With the dew, the song did start,

With the thaw, the song did grow,

In all hearts that warmed,

But them, the flints, smile slow!

Them that the waves wearied,

With time, still does the blood flow.

The red still be in those veins,

Those that are but etched deep.

Of all the water that has passed over,

Them, the bards do not sleep.

That sky of those days, be that blue,

These mirrors veil, time tells true.

Them be but the tales of a winter,

Be but flighty whispers this spring!

Those tales that the old bards told,

Newer tunes do bolder hearts bring.

The old chapters been buried now,

Old love, old hearts loosely sold.

Voices of reason for shiny toys,

Flights of reason for lovers bold.

Oh that we would love and forget,

For forget we do to love again.

Those deeds be done, be tales now,

To be buried, forgotten and laid low.

For the pages still be and 

Ink there is to fill!

We will start a new story,

Sing a new song, we will!

For we are but men, in images of gods,

Them we built, them the fickle lot.

A grand story always ends in circles,

Them, those tales will always be.

Those tales have always been old,

Old tales of newer days, will always be!

(PS: Why do our tales never change! )

On a sister

For every errant thought,
For every smile she has bought.
For every promise I have broken,
For every dream she has lost.
I will count my blessings!

For every tantrum thrown,

For every moment she has lost,

For every hiatus taken,

For every tear, dearly bought.

I will count my blessings!

For every beastly hug,
For every missed call,
For all the days I have missed,
For all the rebuke and censure.
I will count my blessings.

For every habit broken,
For every path we've trod,
For every day you have bought,
For all the love, never sought.
I will count my blessings.

Gathering Sand

There are the former's and the latter,
Blinding hate and the rain kissed banter!
Oh what beauty we had! 

We had days in the rain kissed tropics,
When they had nights in the cold cold rain. 
The grasses still be green,
This day they still do haunt!

What the winds missed, the rains killed!
These mildewed days, the sun has missed!
The way to being me, being no more. 
The less we lose, the more we want.

Every speck of sand , each one. 
Loss is not just what one loses, 
But what one has already. 
That what is broken may someday mend,
That what was lost someday gained.
Them that were gone, will be back,
Those forgotten, will be engraved in dark!

But of those that these hands held!
How does one gather the sands together?

Gods of flesh

For while these graves last so long,
A square inch of earth is not to be.
Let the dead burn, for the old ways,
A pound of flesh, and let me be.

Words of love do not a song make,
Nor those of hate, a ballad beget.
Sad are those days a god was made,
Of human flesh, water and holy bread.

Then we were men and today we are,
Red it has been and always will be,
The color of blood always so cheap
And so there is god, always will be.

Of sons and prophets, and earthen lay,
Of masks and words, and another day.
In blood have me a future bought,
And blood will the price we will pay.

Close the doors of your heaven,
For life at the doors of hell,
Here on earth, we live our lives,
Here on earth, our god's dwell.