It May Just be Far - Fetched

A vision, there just beyond reach.
Can I touch it and still dream?
That many roads shot off,
Driving me to the very verge,
Just needing fingers to hold on.

To make a difference across times,
To show there was a me,
To find that which eludes.

Is it a ripple or a wave?
Or is it just an army marching away?

Never overlook that time still flows,
That blacks grey and greys white.
Ever that the last breath may come to pass
Way before the billion eyes
And way before the glint of gold.

The memory of many such stories,
Of trying souls and later souls,
Kept at work, without the rub of silver.

Shall this end just as another?
Or will the eyes glue and the necks crane?

Heinous should a crime be called
When the fire goes out from within
And let everything without, crumble to dust.

Wistfulness? No, it's Cold Greed

Sinful eyes lost in indecorous awe,
The sights inspiring both flame and fear.

The desires of a mindless million
Shaped in stone and scrapped with shame.

A reminder of undying lust
For objects of power far beyond our cusp.

Caught by the unblinking lure
Of light shut up in a crystal,
The eyes glint with ancient emotion;
Hard to hide this – an endless season.

None exceed the wanting wind,
In size of dreams and crazy speed.

The use of eyes, all in sockets,
Just as needles, threaded through.

Pain – the aftermath of awe,
As much as the tilt above the rest.

The hiss of quenched desire,
Still the splutter of unfelt loss.

The world of hidden emotions
Say nothing, but the eyes betray.

A life hath all that itself want,
That the things without, are shifting tricks.
For many may have done things,
Many more may have said things.

When it all comes to the basic meter,
We say a simple rhyme in tune:

"The meanings of a forgotten verse,
Scratched on steel and left to rust.
The needless need for a blackened curse,
Etched in stone and turned to dust."