Sweet Oblivion

Take me from my mind.
Separate each atom within my brain.
Let them float on happy clouds
On the wave of a summer wind.
Let them not know where they are
or have any conscious thought of
From where they came from.

Take me from my mind.
Pull all thoughts from this funny head.
Discard each idea, belief or concept
Into an abyss of solid nothingness.
Let them fester somewhere else
To grow if they may, but
To bother me no more.

Phantoms 

Phantoms gather without care
They enter from I know not where
Each grips my wits with force and then
Compels my mind to dwell again.

Memoirs of no great import
Arriving here without escort
Events and days long since gone
Consume my thoughts and linger on.

No rest am I allowed to keep
In daily tasks or on brink of sleep
Each new delight is shadowed by
These memories of past days gone by.

Good 'Morrow M'Lord

Good morrow m’ Lord, how goes the day with thee?
If I were but one of the ornaments upon your cloak,
How I would cherish thy moments there.
To ride freely upon that precious shoulder,
As life rushes towards thee in ribbons of beauteous color!

Good morrow, m’ lord, what brings thee to me?
If I were but one of the tassels upon your boot,
How I would greet the cold exhilaration of a bitter wind
To be as in flight through an enchanted woodland
Delighting in the fervor of this fast and glorious beast!

Good eve, my lord, in thee what visions does thou see?
If I were but a bit of snuff expectant within your silver box
How I would anticipate thy certain will to expend
So that I may flush thy cheeks as the hue of primroses
As your blood quickens and conveys me on thy journey!

Good eve, my lord, all life I would forsake for thee gladly
If only to exist amongst thy things and traverse as they do.
How I would weep with felicity to have your singular scent
Be as familiar to thy senses as that of mine own.
This is how handsome and radiant thou art to me!

These Shadowed Lines

These shadowed lines which now I see,
Were not always a part of me.
This skin that’s now so stressed and worn
Was once quite fresh; unmarked; new-born.

In truth I lie; the lines were here
Just ill defined and quite unclear.
Hidden deep, far beneath the skin
The festered there, immured within.

My heart and mind, born black with doubt
Both fed them well and bore them out!
They rose above and came to be
And now exist for all to see.