… and a Verse for the Dead

Verses shot on a poet’s gate
Watch them bleed and fall
as passion dies on a heart of slate
They fade and leave a hole

Was it done by the hands of fate?
the hands of the God of all
See him spread his words of hate
and see us heed the call…


Verses killed in a poet’s mouth
slaughtered on the spot
his words get a lift on a wind to the south
while he is left to rot

But southern mounts have no one else
But I, to guard them rocks
I smelt his soul in southern winds
and feathers of southern flocks


What has he done, oh Lord of Man
What deeds has he done wrong
To deserve such end, was this your plan!!
Or was he much too strong?

Well, hear my say, ye Lord of All
My curse on flocks doth fly
One day you’ll fail and down shall fall,
And thou shalt meet with I


17 July 2010


~ by H.Q. on 17 July 2010.

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