(Part 1 in profile posts)

Far I might dwell, from across waters bedeviled by miles,
Oh! Born am I, in cursed lands o’ death and controversy,
Blazed in heat so fast in May,
Knows’t tis fields be filled with despair,
As I gaze upons’t thy place, my friend so fair,
tis night I heard of agony in thy heart,
hands hover’d rested in tis chest,
Burnt irons turnt in veins I thought,
Then knew that pain visited me too as thou hath been plagued,
bled in truth my worry yet visit forbade.


Remov’d from my seat, out below the skies,
Starry? Nay! dust in heaven’s stead covers the stars,
Hazed and grayed from day’s scars,
as burnt dreams ashes turnt, in flight at night,
now nocturne’s skirt.
As also in flight, tis birds singeth not,
Cries, sorrow and despair, agony for their rot,
as felt so deep do they, thy own sadness lot.
Whimpers from hounds and screams from cats,
Grieve do the night as thy sadness resounds,
so grieve do I , that thou do cry,
cry I might, in thy grievance’s plight.


© johndavidday

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