In Support of the Land of Crasti

They were here, right here, I’m sure

Last night before I slept I’m sure I left them here

By the bed, by the alarm clock

Ready for me to pick up in the morning

I almost babble with panic as fingers scrabble

Over throat lozenges and fake wood veneer

Filled to bursting with the stuff I picked up in school

And added to with things I shaped myself

(haphazard and unwieldy though they were)

Shining and polished, and so so many of them

All ready to use, right here, I’m sure they were

Where did they go?  

Could they have been so carelessly mislaid

Or did some thief, clever-creeping come to my room

In the night

In the silence

And take them away?

My years.  Where have they gone?

(in response to Studio30Plus prompt "Babble")

Anathema Drumbeat

In the dusty caverns of the temple, in the burned out ashes of the hall

In the empty echoing of ages we stand and smile and silence takes it all

Through the endless empty march of seconds, Through the days so brilliant and bleak

Through the nights and through the days so foolish, are we quite so foolish as to speak?

Where’s the voice that once proclaimed the sunlight, Where’s the hand that framed the tyger’s fire

Where’s the blood the drowned a deadly serpent?  Who’s the fool who dares to thus enquire?

We will raise our voices in the silence, we will raise our hands to show our cause,

We will shed our blood if blood needs shedding, fear and fright will never give us pause

We have something shining and surpassing, We have life that quickens every heart.

We have that within that passeth knowledge, We have light and darkness. We have art.

(For Studio30Plus and their prompt "Anathema")