When The Evening Sings

As I walk towards my destination
listening to naught but music to my ears,
a reassuring  breeze blows across my face
for a while I shall forget my fears.

Heaven glows with an orange tinge,
as though the clouds were set on flames.
My dear friend is setting for today
to return home, quite far away.

The Lord paints his canvas (behold!)
perhaps the stories never told.

My path is narrow, yet very long.
But when the evening sings, I’ll sing along


My Final Stand

I fear not darkness or solitude.
I fear not impending death or war.
For death shall forever elude
the brave one who stands at par.

I stand at par with my enemies.
I will laugh as each falls to his knees.
Should I die, be it with sword in hand.
But know that I made my final stand.

The Rhyme of the Wake

The Sun is asleep, why must I awake?

My bed pulls me, my poor limbs ache.
Ah! The Sun, dear heart, has his rays.
But we are yet to see our days.

Arise now, don’t wait for the Sun.
We have miles to go, much to get done.
The night was lovely, but the day is here.
Don’t give up, the next challenge is near.

Our chance to avenge the cause of jealousy,
to show this world who we could be.
If you could be strong and stop saying you can’t
then I’ll bring you, dear heart, all that you want.

Standing Tall

Hark, for I hear a proud voice from within!
It speaks of places where I’ve surely been –
a place where pride is destined to fall
and another where I shall forever stand tall!

I rise to the field, a thirsty sword in hand.
And soon amidst a thousand foes I stand.
I smile for today either victory is mine
or else it is so that in Hades I dine!

Choosing my stance, let my sword now speak.
The mighty proceed, crushing the weak!
Know that I will never bow, nor yield.
Gods shall fear the very blade that I wield!

Let Heaven strike my force down with thunder,
or Death’s fatal whip throw me asunder!
Yet, I will rise to challenge the Sisters of Fate
and ride with honour through Hel’s very gate!

For come what may, I shall forever stand tall;
ever ready to raise the infernal battle call!

Upon His Canvass

My dear bright friend is taking his leave.

The streets he lit all day he shall now relieve.
Into a calm red ball he has withdrawn.
Gradually he descends and soon is gone.
The Lord’s favorite canvass, the evening brings.
The sky is now tinged with His mood swings.

The workaholic moon shall soon take his place
And the dark sky shall highlight his face.
The stars shall decorate the black sky soon,
so eager to accompany the very handsome moon.
The sun has set and soon so shall I.
But the moon shall bask in the glory of the night sky.

The Assembly Line

From mass produced circuits to the assembly line,
every one to be made with your redundant design.
The one less than perfect, the merciless world shall discard.
A mere slave to you, it shall work hard.

The machine shall execute your work, that’s true.
But that is all it was programmed to do.
You assign it to work for the betterment of mankind,
but expect it not to have its own mind.

It has no life of its own, it has no desire.
No love or pain may run through its wire.
It cannot question, just obey and submit.
Until it’s break-down, it may never quit.

You designed, created, programmed, and employed.
You shall merely replace it when it has been destroyed.