And I Your Lonely Jester

Let hopes and truths together lie,
Buried in a visage gay,
And when at last my smiles die,
That shall mark my gladdest day.

For happiness, beyond disdain,
Wherein you know its dearth,
So in my heart I do abstain
from gladness, joy and mirth.

While from smiles you refrain,
I would in smiles gladly lack,
But fear my frown would ease the pain
That pierced your heart and turned it black.

I am love's fool and fortune's jest
And pain beats black inside my breast

Until, at last, my smiles die.


Strange and strong the thoughts come
Against a tired vigil's light
Unbidden into dreamscapes numb,
Sowing seeds of sleepless nights

And a mind not wanting for--
A not infrequent source
Of everything (and often more)
That steers this twisted course.

Beyond luck and affluence,
Is his fortuned friend,
To know not some small influence
in meeting weaker ends.

Confidence, his easy prize,
To break mistrust and fears' implies

And to this end, his will be done.


The gateway to this place speaks truth in its Tranquillity;
None in the world so well provoke this degree of true felicity.

Though nevermore draws near a man for purpose of lament,
Everything within this place pays tribute to its first intent.

The Stones arranged like soldiers, defending against humanity
Sit crescent-cupped, alike a moon that plays muse to my insanity.

Clasping hands rest upon the ruins as if praying for serenity.
A weeping willow shades the names, affixing darkness to identity.

Outside these walls, neither gods nor men are sacred to the masses.
It's clear enough, but gets more clear with every SUV that passes.

But here, here, one can sit engrossed in the world's wonder.
And In comfort, can enjoy lamentations of worth torn asunder.

The outside world is taken ill; it ails from culpability.
But in this place there is nothing, excepting sweet tranquillity.


A white poppy means peace.
So white is like our hands:
Unsoiled by the war we never had to fight.
And a flower's always peaceful.
Peaceful like the dead.
The friend I didn't bury,
The foe I didn't kill,
And all those people I didn't watch die.
But peace is not for the dead alone;
We live in peace, we breathe it.
I like my poppies red,
Like the blood I've never had to spill.


Pull my strings,
Just a little bit harder, faster.
Watch me dance,
Move with the music -
Yours, theirs, mine.

Cut off circulation,
My fingernails turn blue,
I've got rope burn on my neck
And I'm still dancing.

Keep it secret,
And I agreed.
Not a word to anyone.
Not one between ourselves.

Faster, Faster.
Please, God, Faster.
An eternity gone by
And I'm still dancing.

Gladly, forever,
If you asked.
Forever and then some,
Just say the word.

Pull my strings,
Faster, harder.
Don't let go.
Keep me dancing.

Always dancing,
Because the minute you stop,
The strings slacken
And I fall.

First Taste

Through the trees, on gloomy nights,
I see a red cloak flit
Surrounded by all ghastly sights,
Without her lantern lit.

I see her skin, as white as snow,
And eyes like ravens' wings,
With ruby lips like Cupid's bow
-She purses them and sings.

She is my angel, small and chaste,
Pure, like her white dress.
And what I'd give for just a taste,
She can't begin to guess.

So slowly, I walk to her,
A smile on my face,
And when her feet begin to stir,
So I begin my chase.

Her cries are the like of sirens',
Calling me ever on,
So through the woods I follow,
'Til near the light of dawn.

She disappears at daybreak,
Into a dark, black cave.
And I am glad to finally take,
Of what the forest gave.

Inside she turns, stopped in her tracks
Then I regret my sin.
For with tiny teeth as sharp as tacks,
She sets into my skin.

I try to escape through my pain.
She shows her teeth with glee,
And with her voice as soft as rain,
She, laughing, says to me:

You made no mistake in thinking
That I was pure and chaste,
But what made you think for an instant,
That you'd be the first to taste?

I once met a man in the moonlight,
A wolf he was called, in a lie.
And if truth be told, it was his bite
That made my mortality die.

And as I die, she smiles,
My blood red on her lips,
A pool of blood beside her,
And a cup at which she sips.

And as I die, I gather,
Her cloak's not dyed; it's stained,
How many died, I wonder,
And what of the blood that was drained?

The world begins to turn grey
The edges of it blur,
I feel myself start to decay,
And all I see is her.

I see her skin, as white as snow,
Her dress bloodstained white lace,
Her ruby lips like Cupid's bow,
A smile on her face.

She is a fiend, a heartless beast,
With eyes like ravens' wings.
I hear the smile in her voice,
As she softly sings:

Goodnight, my lonely traveller,
Be sure that you dream well,
Because I'm sure I've heard it said,
There are no dreams in Hell.

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