Dagon

Yesterdays pass
while we play for time
a youth no more
as his story unfolds
he looks back at others
so many alone basking in his light
the stringed wooden body dangles
hosting a devil Dagon inside
as a closed door hangs
hinged on love's disarray
he oils the tearful cries
its ecstasy read aloud
deftly passing that point of no return
a demise of another Prometheus
taking pains to word it on paper
a sign of being there
and not caring

Sower

Nature wounds the weary
a way into a heart
softly spoken and with cunning
fondness grows as a vine does
naive in a spring apart
granite stones and earth
he stamps his foot , kicks up the dust
the torture rays fall unseen
compromised by misfortune
in deadness they lay, once royal
shrivelled and ended from life
the sower scans the sky
bleak the morning light, none look back
beaten, burnt his brow,  a poet once
piercing through the slits he judges
nothing stirs,  a lark above
a tormented ground heaves in a whisper
a grass dying, white, broken now, sighs
thoughts turn to refuge and fear
bitter, sweet now a vision
pausing  to wipe the dust away
he stamps again and turns
a frown becomes his face
part friends, she said
a hollow in the dead
another day in this place
another night
how many more words ?