P O E T R Y. . .Post your poems! I'll go first!

LOSS OF NARRATIVE 

there was he, loss and upon the knee

Young like sprouting vine

Vanquished of youth's slow shine 

His eyes full of wraith-scorn

Melodies and lullabies of consistencies  out worn

'twas no East

No West defined 

Wrath and irk polluted up and dammed the channels of the mind

This wayward, lost not

Inward twisting knot

Upon the way of small and grim

That the branch of life is bitter in it, each and every limb

Young squire salute this night

Rise in dessert's dry

To eat not its dust nor sound its mournful cry

Where is your gone piece?

Where doth burn your twin's flame, that she and thee are not the same?

When was this devil in you born?

That away from which you're but torn

He takes the wisdom of this and plans to carry on

Though he feels the stakes are rising 

And he is still alone

He the tortured tower climb

He that in his bowels has the words

But no tempo, as yet no rhyme

The wind and hail

The wood and nail

Hurricane of terror with blissful eye

Upon the tower there one of his natures must now die.