The Boundary of Tir Na Nog

When the air warms under silver suns, And the ancient lakes births misty ghosts, Dancing faerie lights in wooded runs, Tease the memories of spring-time hosts, Crowned in past glories of battles won, Feted beyond ephemerals coasts, 'til ragged time makes all things undone, And legends fade to whispers at most, Heard now only upon …

Of Artists and Passion

She paints in blood and memories,Demanding of herself everything,As her soul is poured over the canvas. He sings his shattered arias,Music crafted in disharmony,His voice cracks to utter such perfection. She writes her poetry while dreaming,The words gifted from forgotten friends,Like a muted plea to be remembered.

Worse to be Simply Forgotten?

I dreamt of you the other night:The white of your neck,Silhouetted by starry hair,Your crooked smile seemed to say,"If you have a problem, deal with it."While you moved to a song only you heard,Golden eyes gleaming with secrets thoughts,And your sharp personality cutting every word. But then I remembered,Your eyes were a pale green,Like a …

Fairy Queen neath Amethyst Skies

Neath amethyst skies,Fairy circles’ flowers bloom,and await her arrival: Twilight-tinged Tulips,and Azure Azaleas, Peek shyly open petals.While Forget-Me-Nots,Rising ‘neath purple clovers,Murmur their dreamy hullos.Only the roses,Dream their purple fantasies,She loves them better that way. Caressing each friend,The Fairy Queen settles in,Neither song nor spell tonight,Just a cup of tea,And the easy grace of friends,For this, the …

The Taste of Apostasy

Blue smoke snakes from dark lips, seductive, The gossamer dress settles, languid, Slender arms cross the scarred space, cruelly, Wrapping around my throat, adoring, Hot tears fall as ruby drops, regret, I am contempt, lusting, delicious.

Sympathy for Fallen Angels

I know why the Angels fell,For I can see heaven in your eyes,And to stave off its defilement,Well, surely that alone is worth hell.

A Longing for Autumn

My love is too delicate for daylight, like dewy imaginations of misty mornings, the soft, cool breath of falling maple leaves, the hush of grassy murmurs in shallow brooks, or the exultations of a wondrous, witchy child waking to the realization that she is finally home.

Guilt, not Regret

You sighed when I spoke last, Kissed me coldly, with pity, And with a caress of my cheeks, You leave. But never gone. You linger on, A faded memory, A phantom pain, To be carried by me, always, Because I cared a little too much, And you never really cared enough, Or maybe it was …

My Muse Chuckles Darkly

Roused I from a dreamless sleepless chill, Summoned to the study, cool and still, to find my patron sleeping deeply, poured over cantos stolen cheaply, Cobbled by whispers of ancient lore, Having discarded me, long before. So, having loved him, rob I his sight, Allow him to dream of endless night, Perhaps the Dark Stars …

A Prison of my Own Making

I stopped this morning, All the thinking.Gulping air with sightless eyes,The constant bell-ring in my ear,The stabbing knives in my mind,Slowly faded.In my thoughtless breath,I rode free from the flesh,Beyond the blood running hot,And the thousand-thousand thoughts,Coalescing into the mortar-mess,Mortarium,That cages my feverish consciousness.