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ethereal void

Night’s Galore

If nights sung the sweet galore

Of the moonlit unsung debonair

If the tides of of time

Struck that magic rhyme

In the mystique ticking timeless time.

The tune cuddled the moonlit tide

Amid the plenty awesome delight.

The dressed espousal in nasty glee

In quest of the obscure bright.

Lovely bridals singing galore

The dainty moon lost
Dreams dead over the millions dead.

A new hum of soothing lullaby

Amid the canopied bliss.

Of  the autumn midnight glee.
Embrace the mystic dark wonder
A moment to yonder in splendour.

Lullaby dead, thousands bled, dreams ahead…

A long night to ruminate
The lost air of magic wonder.

The dead night spells a sorcerous
Autumn blending to fruitful spring.

Touch of The Class

Touch of the class

Mystic in pleasing glass

The marvel of time

Sings the golden rhyme.

The mystique of space

Moseyed ablaze

Amid the smidgen of ethereal void.

With thousands bled to the class caress,

The moon lustres relentless in gory crusades

To spring ignored glory.

The touch is valid victory

Creed of grandeur crusade.

The moon glides in dainty delight

Amid the wild tender holy bliss.

The silent odes of truth Divine
Strewn in chateaus of celestial wine

Sing O lord in mystic glum

Sing its class in soliloquy.

In lost jingles of a forlorn lullaby

Embellish your tender lips,
On the floating mountain sill

The lost serenade of a neglected dawn

Kissing the caged splendour.

Divine kiss in her warm lips.

The class is a myth, of scrappy wonder.

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