The frog and owl together,

Began at once to ponder,

Together from one to another,

Why they were together,

One said it’s another,

The frog liked it better,

The owl said this is older,

And so things were nicer.

#lisa&I

One morning

oh morning, oh day, yet dark under black clouds,

cold winds and sharp rains, dampen the wet ground,

a storm is brewing, silently it creeps, herald by grey skies,

a storm is coming, the wild breeze once gentle shows me it comes

it is twilight at midday, the sun shrouded by dark clouds,

the winds tug and sway at branches, at shrubs and bushes,

the cold sting of rain beating upon the now dead foliage,

damp and dreary, yet the day begins, just a day like any other

then a ray of light, through the clouds shines a solitary beam,

the rains part though the cold remains, but colour returns to the gloomy pallor,

upon a sudden the promise of today changes, shifts from dreary to wistful,

oh woe for it does not last, not even a whole minute, for the unwell paranoid hearkens

what good is being on the other side of the world when he is naught but before me,

forever pestering me, spewing fear and hate, burning all good thoughts with but a word,

the day turns yet again, all in no more than a few lonely moments, 

can I not spend an hour without the pain, to shut that ever watchful eye for but a moment,

what a respite it would be, what joy to be oblivious, to be at peace,

my mind rings with noise, clangs and slams, cracks and breaks, clashes and strikes,

a symphony of noise, an orchestra of thoughts, not one moment of rest,

with no sense of time and no coherence or order, not a moment of quite, nor calm

like a river inundated, torrents wash though, waves crashing and water destroying,

like floods it cannot be stopped but simply endured, for the promise it brings,

for amidst all this wanton destruction an damage, grows the soils for a new beginning,

within all this dark and decay, from the very gut of corrosion, rises a new seed 

oh but what good is a seed of new beginnings, of new hope,

if the seed cannot grow beyond a sapling, cannot survive to grow, simply dies at birth,

just to let the inundation come again, again to ravage what lies in ruins,

not given a chance to heal, to gather the broken pieces, to try and mend

even in pieces I must live on, crawl on in existence till my time, till I am called away,

I wait for the call each day, every night, every passing moment, every waking dream,

for when the moment comes I shall be ready, prepared to meet what awaits me,

only friends await me, only the bliss of an unknown love

why élan views dissolution as the end is beyond me, for silence is but a new inception,

a new birth, the canvas for something far more endearing than the one past,

still what do I know, sitting by the window watching the tempest rage outside,

a tempest mirrored within, the ideations and tremors of a fellow yet incipient

as I ponder of my future, a future I do not know or want,

I cannot help but feel adrift, misplaced and bewildered, a world that would not notice,

why would the world notice, if one such as I simply sailed away, far beyond the horizon,

would I be missed? would my absence be noticed? I doubt and I suspect not