The Mockingbird’s Lament 

Why doth my soul
Desire another to cling to,
Does it have no limbs?
Is it only morning
When the mockingbird sings?
Why doth the moon alone be forbidden
Of its seraphic melody. 

Though in scarcity
Does a camel not need water?
And prithee,
Do you not wish to be loved
And not left slaughtered. 

Why do you curse,
What you yourself desire.
Say the soothsayer speaks the truth,
Yet deem him a liar.
For you defy your inevitable fate,
Unable to create,
Your own,
Your throne
Of sticks and stones
Shattering as you rest alone.
Homeless homesick for a home.

 Ghosts of the Past

I stab the earth’s soft soil,
Murdering a pure life
As I dig into its malevolent heart,
Burying Ghosts of the Past. 

They drag me along
In graves
Deep, dark, dismal.

To chasms abysmal.
Phantoms and specters,
Residing in the labyrinths of my brain,
In chambers of my heart.
A memento echoes. 

An ember star glimmers,
Shining faint hope
Over the remnants
Of my memories. 

The grave hauls me within.
Trapped amid its jaws
I plead for light,
Struggling to reach the surface,
Each crevice
Haunts me. 

A rose wilts
Over my grave.
I drown in the earth’s soft soil,
One with its malevolent heart,
A miserable life murdered.
Till stars blow into oblivion
Bound eternally;
To Ghosts of the Past.

A Spectre's Song

The night flows
Through my fingertips.
Hours flow into the sea.
I find sanity
In the moments that break free. 

A violin’s intoxicant melody,
Our love song.
Drunk on our despair,
A moon floats aimlessly,
Shining upon wilting hyacinths,
Lingering through invisible labyrinths
Of its celestial house.
A home forgotten. 

Tears Testify
Inadequacy of love;
Through scorned pathways
Of time and history.
Deceptive Devotion Drifts
Through ruins of memory.

A solace
In the corner
Of your dimly lit yellow room,
Drunk on blood
Of the quill you own.
Shed on sheets of flesh and paper.
The cathartic crimson of your artery
Heals you:
From a love song's 
Haunting tune.
Among eternal stardust
A spectre sings.