Splinters

Bleak, bleak, wasteland,
you sorely miss the gardeners of your past.
Bleak, desolate island,
Spring shalt not come, spring shalt not come.

Scorch the plains, brothers.
And let us march though our feet are broken.
We always trudge on, don't we ?
With or without words

Take your toll and leave,
Thunderstorms pass.

We are the wind in the fractures.

Obscurity

Oh, watch these arrows fly
Through the unlit sky.
Questions you can't see,
The spearheads t'ward me.
Like when the thunder begs the rain,
And the happiness, the pain.
When sunsets fade illuminated paths,
And disguise your silent art.

Then I hear,
Oh ! Am I wrong ?

And I beg approval.
I am a beggar in plain clothes.
And a pauper of the shadows.
A citizen of trepidation,
A valorous fool.

Where the loss wins the blackest bitterness
And craves company,
In the crevisces of what I thought was mine.

Oh ! But in the night, we are all blind.
Without our arrows on fire.