Divine Balancer

One morning on the river strait I wonder what was happening. A boat was rowing with a ghost steering her every mood. She was floating with such gentle and splendid display that I stood in awe. She seemed to control her path with no interference from the divines - God and the Devil. I guess they had a pact, an understanding that another divine existed - other than the two generally revered. God and the Devil sat on opposite banks as they eyed their balancer flow through the strait with no acknowledgement that the two great entities existed. I assume that the spiritual boat had a mind of her own that did not back when divine atrocities meandered in her path.

Lustful Confessions

The confession of the nun was a somber detail. For in the monastery was a quiet abode. Nothing could go wrong in pious rooms but she was a voracious servant of the lord. In the nights she walked the halls naked with just a veil on her head. Her body was a curvature of models and with her pubic hair groomed she walked the halls with elegant strides. With her breast and nipples erect she entrapped her mates with calls of prayer. The mates enjoyed the lustful night of entrapment never to leave the abode of Dracula. The interesting fact of the nun was that in the morning she was a moralist and in the nights she was a disdain that she was admired for. Her sermons were up lifters of poverty and hollow souls and her lustful watch was the opposing pole.

A Formidable Book

In a field of roses

There lay a table

And on it a leather covered book

Surrounding the field

Were green colored trees

Boles of trees

That bore long ranging branches

Weeds and herbs grew around them

A thick forest

That bore a heavy air

That which was not breathable

The leathered book

As formidable as it looked

Had white pages

With several stories

Of storms that fell

Rivers that flowed

And humans that walked

At a glance they looked like fairy tales

Which were created of the past

Once walked by gods

In a deserted terrain

Every tale was written and hewn

To describe a path

Taken by the gods

A religious book

Prayed for divinity

Followed by none to its core

But prescribed by all as it was written

The rules and lettered words

When read in depth

Piecing the reality

Had no meaning

But translated by the one who read it

A High Stool Seat

Sitting on a high stool in a cottage room

I thought to myself

Where did my freedom go?

Sitting on a high stool in a cottage room

I lent myself a whisper

Where did my freedom go?

Singing on that stool

I sat there in the shadow of a roof

White colored surface

Waiting to reflect a light

In a shadowed room

The curtains of the windows

Were half open

Lending itself to the view

Of a clear starry night

The moonlight gave in

The room still dark

The white colored surface

Waiting to reflect a light

In the shadowed room

Looking at the moonlight

Through the curtains

Into the clear starry night

I lent my self a whisper

Sitting on a high stool in a cottage room

Where did my freedom go?

Roads of gravel

On the road to the rocky hill

That lay towards the North

With a snow caped peak

I was on my way

Walking through the deserted road

As smooth as ice and gravelly on the banks

The gravel and the forest met on their eaves

To the left and to the right

And we walked together

With posts and signs showing up

Every now and then

As if they were put in place

With efficacy and need

To control the walkers of that road

The walkers to the rocky hill

With a snow caped peak

Some I shrugged

And some I walked to where it sent me

Walking on a balancing line

That which was never evident

A straight line or bent

Was not a matter of choice

As if we walked hand in hand

To reach the white cape

Surrounded by deserted roads

That walked up to its sheer peak

On the way I hoped that I met

A strange creature

In hope to spell what my story was

The reason for my walk

And with no questions asked

We would stream to the cliff

Not knowing the time that passed

And not knowing where the eaves met

On the banks of that icy road

Durin's Bed

On an island of Durin

In the far east ward cave

There lay a stone

A flat stony bed

A hallway stood

With mounted pillars

Shoulder width

Going east to west

A passage way existed

Between each set of rows

Each pillar mounted on a podium rock

The gold that glittered

The ornament that was placed

Were placed as runes

Around the stony bed

The island of Durin

We were put on to safeguard

The caves that glittered

Of gold and diamonds

The fissures that lie

In the roof above

Among the stones

That brought daylight

The wind blue

As we heard

The music that played

Through the holes

In the halls of Durin

We were all mesmerized

Standing there we weren’t sure

Of what to safeguard

The wind or the stone

  

The runes displayed told a story

Of greed that stayed

In the tomb of Durin

Where the last king of men

Was laid in heaven

A walk in the park

In a mellow world

As I walk in the park

I have no words to say

No words to speak

The thoughts were placid

As the river flows

Into the deep

Off shore

Looking for words

I danced down the merry park

Among the people

Who had come for a walk

Out there on a bench

On each end

Transcended two figures

Shadowy statures

With philosophical hands

Eyes protruding towards me

I watched them direct me to a seat beside them

And as they shook and quivered

Their shadows seemed to blur

From the projectiles that had given them birth

In that dream

I walked to that seat

A misty cloud walk

That I had ever walked

Their eyes following my steps

To the seat that they had chosen

As I sat beside those philosophical hands

They looked away into the mist that I had walked

Trying to convey what they saw

Into the mist and through the chilly air

There seemed to be dancing walkers

With a motion and style

Each to their own

Motionless we sat together

Seeing the charade

Admiring the art being swayed by our eyes

So synced and wondrous

That I forgot to ask

Of what we were witnessing

With dismay

I intently looked

At the shadowy creatures

That sat beside me

To find out the meaning of the sways

As I looked away back into the mist

I saw a realm close by

The rough terrain off the park

Sunny and clear

Where no one existed

As if all people had been swayed by the creatures into the mist

There laid a hole

A perfect round

Cutty edges

And a fall that seemed too deep

I seemed to be swayed again into the mist

As the hole was uninteresting

I started looking away

When in a sudden splash

A steam of watchers came about the hole

With their right hand curved

Their index finger pointing towards us

With no placards

No language

They seemed gagged

And worrisome about what I did not understand

A blue light displayed in the area they stood

Where foot steps were placed

In the size of my feet

That I had walked

In the merry park

And as my eyes fell on the steps

All disappeared

Without a meaning, an explanation

Left without the beat of the conversation

That was about to be

The shadowy creatures seemed to be missing

Besides where I sat

On the bench

In the park that I come to walk

Bewildered

I got up to walk the path

And so I walked

In the merry park

Through the sunny terrain

With the walkers that were dancing in the mist

That they called art