Tuesday, December 19, 2017


My dreams spake to me, in the riddled morning sunlight,
Clamoured by the knights shinning armour, it spoke,
"Shiny", my little voice echoed, shiny indeed.

My dreams spake to me, clearing its voice it spoke,
The devil's hour is upon your soul, sleep, the little voice echoed,
"The darkest hour foresees a sunshine", I replied.

My dreams spake to me, chanting mystic words of a world lost,
As the seven colours played, dwarfs in the plot of the White,
The Evil Queen resumed her verbose with the mirror, sleep the mirror did.

My dreams spake to me, shivers, cold, the mind games played,
The balance unhinged, darker powers spooked by the purple Jedi,
The metal has lost its sheen, rapped by the dubbed steps of pain.

My dreams spake to me, shivers,  I feel a disturbed force,
Fear me for the force is strong on my side, I am the chosen one, he says
She slapped, I slapped, he slapped, the words play their parts.

My dreams spake to me, sleep is the mistress I long to forget,
For my love lays in my arms, sleep lurking by the edges,
I want to sleep, but she my life(Oh, mind the rhyme), has different plans.

My dreams spake to me, falter I did, cheat I did, suffer I did,
The truth spoke higher than the dreams, engulfed in the darkness,
Sleep my mistress, my long forgotten love, seconded by knowledge.

Knowledge, my life long strife.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

The Chronicles of Lady Death - Olga of Kiev

The three horsemen smiled,
One by one she called their names,
Rise they did, from graves forgotten.

Pestilence my friend, she would sing,
As men burned in the bathrobe,
The best of their land, burned to ashes,
'No more suitors', the Pale horseman sang.

The wise and righteous of the land folcked,
War smiled, as he sharpened the swords,
Bidding her cry for revenge, patience a fools virtue

Patience paid its wage, in her court,
As he wetted his blade, bathed in blood,
Olga smiled, as five thousand lay dead,
Soldiers sheathed their swords, so did the Black horseman, 

Her long lost love she mourned,
Olga wailed, as her love lay drenched in crimson.
The lure to mourn spawned the empire.

Famine hit the twenty of the best, 
Dirt rose high, life smothered till the last breath.
The White horseman raised his sword,
As he stole the dying breath, of the men who came to mourn.

My son shall live on, Olga chimed,
For a price of pigeons and sparrows, three a piece,
Fire rained from heavens, Gomorrah witnessed its end.

Death devoured her love,   Drevlian murderers,
She mourned long and hard,
As she became the last rider of apocalypse,
Thus was sang the chronicles of lady death,

The chronicles of Saint Olga of Kiev's

St. Olga of Kiev - Wiki

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Nightingale's Wail

The curtains fall, an applause follows,
Her flamboyance seconded by the moon.
The lights dim, her pride wallows.

Countless are her adeptes assidus.
Men flock, boys swoon, at  the tender voice,
Yet guarded she stands, her hands perched high.

The night is young, she says,  a perfect choice,
She picks the one with the shiniest bag.

The crack of the dawn, sets the stage,
She clears her throat, smiles, shies away.
Her smile hides the infuriating rage.

As the night fades, the morning bird sings,
She collects her toils of the night.

Gathering the little garbs off her wings.
She flies home, walking the walk of shame
At length, home, and the comfort of her mirror.

Her beauty faded than the day before.
She clears her throat once again.
A crackled voice, of a girl in pain.

The wail of a lost nightingale.