Friday, September 21, 2012

Such Men As We

Constant repeat,
Ever dwindle.
A bitter flame
With which to kindle
Candles bright
With mortal glory.
Pride and lust;
The darkest story.
Passion labeled,
Love is lost,
The line too heavy
For to cross.
Consume us now:
A shadow's fire.
Brick and mortar
Sink to mire.
Flee we here
To shredded veil
And find a court
Of Godly tier.
Now there rest
Such men as we:
Who wandered bound,
Now walking free.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved. 

Monday, September 10, 2012


All the world too grand a stage
For players such as we.
That every line should be displayed
Devoid of symmetry.

Our parts, rehearsed, are living dead:
No purpose to reveal.
Old Decay comes steady on,
And hungry nips our heels.

Masks will glow in candle flame,
Rot will feed the fire.
The foolish word, a deadly thing;
A poison script inspired.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved. 

Monday, September 3, 2012


We walked into the starry void
And through the ocean deep.
Traversed the fires of the core,
Then found the dragon's keep.
Goblins did assault us all;
Trolls came out a'plenty.
We gave them grief of bitter sort:
Our one against their twenty.
Further still, adventure wrought
Our path not for the weary.
While Winter fell upon the land
Where fairy court presided.
The queen was cruel
So ended rule left for her no glory.
Upon her death the pages closed,
They waited for another.
A mind to show this path of awe:
Each book must seek a lover.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Of Fancy

The pages full and all alone,
To sit and wonder.
Find Myself.
So lost.
Too different and apart from them;
Isolated in my mind
Where wondrous things endure.
To peek into the nether world
Where things are colder,
Locked in frigid normalcy.
Yet inspired to such tales
As might break the fretting soul.
So to write, ever on
And keep the rest a'hiding.
Let them play unending notes,
Unmoving to myself.
Each too flat to lift such thoughts.
Other songs entrance me more,
Sung as they were in places
Only of the brain and pen.
Alas, that such might come again!
One to match this fount of mirth,
Sprung beneath a dancing star.
Though here we sit
With none to walk
Into the lands of flight and farce.

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved.