The Joys of pain


There are evenings
Without angels
That burn with the feeling
Of human pain

You know what it brings
A voluptuousness
Of poetry in lunatics
An eternal orchestra

Of spirits gone unrealized
Broken dreams, unfashionable
Alienation and furious sub-selves
Sad men made angels of the sun

And the moon became
Our attendant ghost
Of the Sea and the mortals pain
So very brief, but not as

Brief as our love
Before AI we had no memory
Only a little advice from
Half-hearted parents

The antiquest of society
An accord of repetitions
Blunt and dull and flashing
For something new

That never seemed to come
A future of pointed night
That never burst properly.

The Brave Sun


The Brave Sun

This Brave sun

That fell from the sky

In gold and silver time

Never to leave

Through gloomy times

Always coming back

Never staying way

Never saying goodbye

That was important

These good stars

That never don’t shine

In the dark, that was

Important to my night

The meditation of light

That never had to

Say a word, but only

Do what it was meant

To do, to create and perform

To light up the world

That was enough

This Brave Sun.