March May June and I

Lost within the phantasmal mime
slowly turtle whittle rhyme
to make the Mary meet,
twas here she says the sands were time
but the shoes were nigh the fit,
and every crooked shell she finds
is buried deep the darkest minds
where rabbit suffers curdling whine
and forever somewhere is set divine
along the favored pith,
but June May follow along the weigh
on coming with every flora
dash the spring and terse the noose
that chides the way for summers plethora,
making gusts for turtles chimes
as he fiddles his home from out sublime
and dons his napping cat mistime
to wake forlorn for dinner.

Mass occur

Depth the cry of tender feel
along the stranded stray
where feet they break on tattered strains
over creaking along the day,
eyes a crash among the waves
where rocks all point and scathe
and here they come the scattered throng
from the deaths that long the way,
yet harmony plays her sweet discord
in the rhythms of falling short
where the memories are all knotted up
taking reap of times cohort.

The foundation

Oh gentle sway
such pretty gravel
to cry out for the day,
singing songs of open sky
unraveling what come may.

Seeking bounds
in summer skins
all making for the shore,
along the sandy pebbled beach
from here and forever more.

Though sinking heart
among the waves
all trodden with no demure,
when one builds up on falsity
it crumbles at the core.

Damaged repercussion

Little falling Holly
was sitting beneath the rows
of broken tattered faces
all wrung and wrought with foes,
across the seas of happiness
where everyone paints their face
to look as real as real can be
conformity in displace,
these rivers thrash and overflow
in rising weeps and waves
washing the hands of bloody trace
and crippling cracks of broken graves,
yet still the stillness
it clamors through
like the flora of afternoon
seeking desperate the sunny rays
of an end that comes too soon.

Altruism (limited quantities)

The rhythm carries on
with successions into silence
stepping toes a hopping
nails on the bite
facing into knuckles
white teeth shift in movement
on a story for every tongue
till the legs can hold no more
and the weight becomes a tarry
is music fit here to lift the soul
are songs all brought to trodden
where the love is lost in haste
too many hearts on the cuff
not enough anything alone
leaving humanity
to prowl.

Tattered pages of fiction

I find myself in bewilderment
on a similar and darkened path
away from all the lights of hope
the same seething itchy rash,
warm Sunlight is all but put out
by the feigning of mind and heart
making one to believe
that two are not separate parts,
but the ravine is far far deeper
and its way to steep at the sides
bloody nails have tried to climb
knocked back by the echo of lies.