The Living Death

Underneath the enchanting fruit-laden trees of this wood
Where green woodpeckers and black-billed cuckoos did frolic, play,
We met silently as if our mouths would ask us to pay
If we voiced words apart from, of course, ‘Are you faring good?’
Then like men who for several months had no repast, we stood
To content our young stomachs with fruits we did like,
A few being pear and grape that tasted brill and did strike
Our minds with thoughts about days we’d saunter there donning hood.

Soon enough we did notice some huntsmen with arrows, bows,
Who looked keen to put rollicking, glad deer yon day to death;
So like soldiers who safeguard the borders, we formed two rows
In hope we could stall each man that did tread with baited breath.
We were sure to become the deer hunters’ censorious foes
Till we realised that we’d be the first to be put to death.

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Silence So Sounded

Silence so sounded sound, ceremonious
storming seven seas, sanctified sites
sighting sombre sepulchres, sky
showing scenes scened stunningly
stunning sagacious seers
seeing silhouettes
strolling slowly
steadying
serious
souls
that
trouble
the troubled,
taste the tasted
twitch, twist, toil, taboo
terribly thoughtlessly
trolling too tolerant types
that tell thoughtful tales tellingly
to train tense trolls teaming together
travelling through time, traversing timed times

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