1. CRAWLING

From the shadows of the luring mind
We come crawling, crawling

We bring freedom from the devil
We come crawling, crawling

Little child, open your mind

You are lost, you need saving
Or you'll burn, you'll burn

Burn!

We come with the plague
We slay our way
When your guard is down
In our words you'll drown

Behind the golden mask
A beast
Behind these beautiful words
A sword

Arrogance and greed
Off the week we feed
The unfortunate
Bear not our seed

An empire we build
On years of guilt
Fairy in the flesh
A parasite at best


2. THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as far that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
- I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference


3. WINTER

Behind the gloomy tyrant's awful form
Binding the captive earth in icy claims
His chilling breath sweeps o'er the watery plains
Howls in the blast, and swells the rising storm

See from its centre bends the rifted tower
Threat'ning the lowly vale with frowning pride
O'ver the scared flocks that seek its sheltering side
A fearful ruin o'er their heads to pour

While to the cheerful hearth and social board
Content and ease repair, the sons of want
Receive from niggard fate their pittance scant
And where some shed bleak covert may afford
Wan poverty, amidst her meagre host
Casts round her haggard eyes, and shivers at the frost


4. THE SHADOW LUNG

Heroes of the wasteland
Where we all fade away
The dust of the concrete
In the veins of those who stay

Iris of half-a-man
Watch the giants leave with the wind
Beyond the gates of ever sadness
Their souls are left astray

The tides of time
Come uncompressed
In the cauldron of the damned
The tears of regrets
Leaves a river of blood
A trail for the eye of a lie
The shadow lung
Speaks a new tongue

With limited knowledge
Comes limited worthiness

Climbing a mountain of unlimited hopelessness
Less ego reign
Healed by yourself in vain

Giants walked the earth
The the sound of a broken bell
Fractured, injured, hurt
Descended to their beautiful hell

Origin of dark matter
The genesis of smatter
It all fades away
But the actions still remains

The shadow lung
Speaks a new tongue
Words once of wisdom
Now hidden in an empty hoax
Giants walked the earth
To the sound of a broken bell
Fractured, injured, hurt
Descended to their beautiful hell

Origin of dark matter
The genesis of smatter
It all fades away
But the actions still remains


5. THE THORN

I.
There is a Thorn - it looks so old
In truth, you'd find it hard to say
How it could ever have been young
It looks so old and grey
Not higher than a two years' child
It stand erect, this ages Thorn
No leaves it has, no prickly points
It is a mass of knotted joints
A wretched thing forlorn
It stands erect, and like a stone
With lichens is it overgrown

II.
LIke rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
With lichens to the very top
And hung with heavy tufts of mass
A melancholy crop
Up for the earth these masses creep
And this poor Thorn they clasp it round
So close, you'd say that they are bent
With plain and manifest intent
To drag it to the ground
And all have joined in one endeavour
To bury this poor Thorn for ever

III.
High on a mountain's highest ridge
Where oft the stormy winter gale
Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
It sweeps from vale to vale
Not five yards from the mountain path
This Thorn you on your left espy
And to the left, three yard beyond
You see a little muddy pond
Of water - never dry
Though but of compass small, and bare
To thirsty suns and parching air

IV.
And, close beside this ages Thorn
There is a fresh and lovely sight
A beauteous heap, a hill of moss
Just half a foot in height
All lovely colours there you see
All colours that were ever seen
And mossy network too is there
As if by hand of lady fair
The work had woven been
And cups, the darlings of the eye
So deep is there vermilion dye

V.
Ah me! What lovely tints are there
Of olive green and scarlet bright
In spikes, in branches, and in stars
Green, red, and pearly white!

This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss
Which close beside the Thorn you see
So fresh in all its beauteous dyes
Is like an infant's grave in size
As like as like can be:
But never, never any where
An infant's grave was half so fair

VI.
Now would you see this aged Thorn
This pond, and beauteous hill of moss
You must take care and choose your time
The mountain when to cross
For oft there sits between the heap
So like an infant's grave in size
And that same pond of which I spoke
A Woman in a scarlet cloak
And to herself she cries
'Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!'

VII.
At all times of the day and night
This wretched Woman thither goes
And she is known to every star
And every wind that blows
And there, beside the Thorn she sits
When the blue daylight's in the skies
And when the whirlwind's on the hill
Or frosty air is keen and still
And to herself she cries
'Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!'

VIII.
Now wherefore, thus, by day and night
In rain, in tempest, and in snow
Thus to the dreary mountain-top
Does this poor Woman go?
And why sits she beside the Thorn
When the blur daylight's in the sky
Or when the whirlwind's on the hill
or frosty air is keen and still
And wherefore does she cry?
O wherefore? wherefore? Tell me why
Does she repeat that doleful cry?


6. IT WAS NOT DEATH

It was not Death, for I stood up
And all the Dead, lie down
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos - crawl
Nor Fire - for just my marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool

And yet, it tasted, like them all
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial
Reminded me, of mine

As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame
And could not breathe without a key
And 'twas like Midnight, some

When everything that ticked - has stopped
And space stares - all around
Or Grisly frosts - first Autumn morns
Repeal the Beating Ground

But most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool
Without a Chance or spar
Or even a Report of Land
To justify - Despair


7. THE CLOUDED MORNING

The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail
Handling like curtains all the horizon round
Or overhead in heavy stillness sail
So still is day, it seems like night profound

Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred
And dull and deadened comes its every sound
The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard

By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned

Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear
Their outlines lost and blended with the sky
And well-known objects, that to all are near
No longer seem familiar to the eye

But with fantastic forms they mock the sight
As when we grope amid the gloom of night