Long i left
this room of rhymes.
Where poetry is our pen.
line full of ink line-chess.
where lord, nobles and kinks
read of the rhymes we bring.
Where the table is set of writers zest.
The rebirth is the spring
of an offspring.
Better i don't swear and loss my hair.
Better i don't hide and stand half
Like Adam in Eden.
That i know is true
and i grow is a growth.
That i flow in my soul
makes me born anew.
Oh! weary soul put in a shoe.
Summer sink and sang
me once before i die.
lies are ever waiting.
Stories ever telling
Music ever sung.
A new one is born.
Poet are call to write.
News in the sky.
One sky to birth
For the rebirth is ours to write.
If i fail let my pen write me lie.
Killing, killing my limping lamp.
hurry staggered by a fairy wand.
pregnant still in moon light waves.
sparkling in sun-light waves.
Be quiet if thy lips ruined by teeth
is blue and shining.
Trimming to tales, the rebirth told.
O' morning grave shall bury youth.
Old pages, weak and dusty.
Can you keep my poetic lines?
If yes, how?
Do not serve this rhymes with
Do not fall as soaked sand slippery
Thou parting pages of time!
save my line running fast.
Throne of two i fear thy ageing parts.
A second time thy throne my notes
Sacred scroll ruled to a metal toll.
Instrument in the finding length.
fear filing while the great brains
summon the grace of thy keep.
Be still. old kiss.
Like the Greek of kings i beseech thee.
A third time thou make me small
fainted by thy storm.
Maybe those rats visited with
But teach us more dreams and
that Grey green believe.
I am through to mine, hungry page of
And for the the fourth time
I bow like a maiden to a serve.
These pages delivered to a sleep
spiting to a table.
Born to the dawn.
Finding these pages ancient of
be burned, aged scroll, I will read
thou no more,
ancient lines of dreams.