The wild jazz solo of the oscillating wind,
tossing the great waters,
out-singing the sheer sighs of the unruly sea.
The clouds dressed grey, in mourning
the sun will peek
only to be swallowed by fishermen's mist.
Flickering bolts greet thunder rolling
with unchallenged prevalence,
shaking the Earth into fear.

Nature's response.

The pigeon dove's
is my favourite sound,
the quintuple coo
not so profound

Once upon a dainty hill
sat old castle of a young king
not busied by ***** thrills
but in the realm, fair Muse did sing

sorry as such
to trouble you sire
but farmer, lady and great squire
are, unto you, to enquire
how it is the sun makes such fire

to this the young king
furrowed his brow
and scratched his chin
and pondered how

eight days did pass
and woe betide
the pressing question
found no bride

the elders of the castle old
let fairy tales of disorder unfold

a great dragon they say
lit the sun
after finding itself lost
and on the run
from a shadow giant
of world unseen

but the tales of course
were all but dreams.

A little voice
filled the air
with light and weightless
soulful flair

a blacksmith's girl
of simple dress

excuse me sir
i must confess
this minor stir
has caused me stress

the young king bade her speak
and with that, the child weak
stood atop a wonky box
with certain eyes and wavy locks

dear people
i now must say
that it is on this cold and fateful day
my mind has led to such dismay

as I have learned to trust none of you.

you say i trust to equal those in the past
whom have brought only pain and hatred
upon those in their wake?
well it's time to take a look in the mirror
my friend, no, wait, don't do that,
i wouldn't want to inflate your ego
it would come as no surprise to me if in that
mirror you would only see the eighth wonder
of the world, ever wondered if you could see
the world? i take that back, there is no sense
in snapping and losing my temper,
but all i'm doing is back tracking and
finding my self exempt of the respect that i
deserve, only you can serve to notice
the pain that you have harboured
upon the empty hearts of which now yearn
for that ever self-loving and i can only leave
you with this advice

turn around and back off
that ain't love it's idolatry.

Valiant galley set sail
adrift through the  Dardanelles.
Her masts, backs straight,
composed as Venetian dames
in familiar basse danse.

Sunset floats amongst the sea mist
silhouetting the capital's skyline.
The holy dome of the Αγία Σοφία
eclipses the light.

The Lady makes port,
at the City on the Seven Hills.
Gentle entrance to the beating heart
of the bustling district.

gun unslung
hanging by his side
swaying with his step

his step thorough
leaving sand behind
floating like particles of dust

dust now forgotten
as his step imprints
upon broken glass

glass shatters more
crumbling
like the cities of Israel
beneath the feet
of falsely declared gods

gods that now drive the mind
with intrepid pace
towards the unsuspecting

the unsuspecting victim
of such malice
that can only be embodied
by death

death
only defied by those
who can truly consider themselves
wholesome and true

and yet the truth struggles
to stop this relentless growth
of pride and self righteousness

and thus the marksman
raises the gun to his target

his breath steady
his heartbeat in his ears

a resonance that he despises
his imperfections are his enemy
And if not to be perfect then what else?

he pulls the trigger