Silentio iacta est

Lonely shepherd on a root,
calling things and teaching grammar,
and the silence fell like fruit.

Naughty pupils making clamor,
in the court that once was ours,
and the silence fell like hammer.

Heaven raging its guitars,
radiating waves of wonder,
and the silence fell like stars.

Earthly drum is torn asunder,
ash and fire bleed through ears,
and the silence fell like thunder.

The unknown unleashing fears,
sometimes treble, sometimes bass,
and the silence fell like tears.

Silver turning into brass,
slowly dripping all its spark,
and the silence fell like glass.

Beams of hope becoming ark,
the salvation of the heirs,
and the silence fell like dark.

Everything arrayed in pairs,
in the shelter stormed by vice,
and the silence fell like stairs.

Selfish babble has a price,
would that love had kept us mute,
and the silence fell like dice.

Lightstruck

A million suns, a million moons
I've set and risen with my sight,
But ever when I glimpse at you,
I'm spellbound by your holy light!

In blackest hole, in dead of night
I'm drowning in a sleeping stew,
But ever when I dream of you,
I pulsate with your fragrant light!

The sense of wrong, the feel of right
I've numbed to gain my hollow might,
If not too late I pray to you,
Restore my heart and gift me flight!

Astral Projection

...unnumbered years,
countless tears,
of fire,
from the blue I've shed,
it pains my ear,
hate to hear,
still screeching in your anguished head,
like a puncture,
like a needle,
dripping all of life away,
to everlasting pool of silence,
devoid of will and things to say,
where 'you' and 'me' are distant objects,
and 'certainly' is less than 'may',
but more than all,
I find you dear,
your cursing,
lovelier than songs that pray,
bound by your smirk,
I am forever,
seeking a lost smile,
I shall not sway,
to warm your bed,
with gift of passion,
transmute the darkness into day,
defy the dead,
and squelch their calling,
ignite their clutches from my way,
with living hope of your arrival,
at place where sentiment and flesh is wed,
the shrine where fifty-two times seven,
you send me bleeding back to heaven,
with bitter heart of freezing red,
a metastatic poisoned tear,
so should you fear when I'm here,
or greater when my flame has fled?