Hold your Peace

Got some new stuff to bore those few readers.

A new song:
Summers nearly half way through
And rarely with content you grew.
Instead the wasted days are fond
Only of those morning songs
Which intoxicate and blur the mind
But greater are the dreams that find
Your way in words which, awful still
Create illusions of life fulfill’d
So productive, hopeful too
The weeks you spend will find you through
The many worded vows and tongues
Those speak to you across and from
Forever less, and ever more
The countless tunes you heard adorn
The empty mind you handle from
And darker thoughts that never sum
To hopelessness, outright and bleak
You listen to the ceiling creak
For you’re awake and they untrue
Summer’s nearly halfway through.

something bad:
hardship’s year His dragging eyelids rested listlessly beneath his lining brow. Average years could not account for age garnered through hardship. Graying hair left itself in hopeless fringes along the bolder outline of his rueful scalp. The man frowned as his less than perfect appearance crossed his mind, and the murky pools passing beneath his feet. He was handsome once. Yes, with a great deal of success and kindly promises for more. “But things change,” croaked the repulsive image below him. The longest of his years had come to pass. And though infancy's eon is beautiful, his birth year’s novelty was never again. Instead, he was left a year of hardship, whose own novelty was bitter in dying light of his previous life. No dried call for help would aid him now. “Nor will anything for that matter.” A thousand reminders now spoke below him in the rain swept street. “If Hardship’s year has any lesson, futile are my empty words.

Maybe I should write mystery novels.