“ Held Instant ” ~ on life’s clock ~

Held be instant

On life’s clock,

Prods the infant

Time finds stalk,

Till soul senescent

Begs for distance,

That lessens load

Of aging baggage,

One need dispose

To bury ravage,

Excesses imposed

Of borne instants,

Living composed!

 

“ The Lane ” ~ dead men stalk ~

 

The lane I walk

In dead man’s land,

Is one that bands

The forlorn souls

That dead men stock,

They who trudge

Hoping to find

What’s left of time,

And so survive

Their soul gone blind,

Unsure they be alive…

 

Thus as I walk

In this non world,

And watch in vain

The suffered pain

Those souls do feel,

Who try to taste

What once was real,

That man laid waste

With insane zeal,

Yet nil a peep

From alleged sheep

To save remains,

For they but follow

Big Brother’s lane,

Who need not walk

In dead man’s land,

Where dead men stalk!

                                                                          ode to Edgar Allan Poe