Lost words

I wrote this some years ago and lost my only copy till today.

A questing Knight

A nights lodging sought
in the castle bright
a simple room
a fire small
to ease a winter chill
a ember needed
to light a candle
and the fire
a quiet sleep
in the bright hall he goes
in simple need
gaily welcomed
to midwinter night
their Lord to honor
the night of his birth
music full
food aplenty
a places cleared
along the board
gifts are given
the night is late
morn quick coming
another long ride
poorly rested
on a bright new day

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The hard part

The hard part is to fold at least one no one reads this so no one ever sees it two I write for myself and not for others and I don’t really care if others don’t like what I write as long as I write

Pointless

Pointless is how I feel this will be. I have lived a very painful life in many ways and cannot believe that I will ever really find a way free. My poetry is a way to vent out and find release from memories. I write for me and really no one else. If no one ever really likes it I can live with that.

 Lost this was, somehow a forgot draft, lost.

Dreams in the night

The Rider

I enter in a large white room
high is the ceiling
straight are the walls
round are the corners
door lies across on the other side

in the center I see
a large black hat
square in shape
drooping it is
upon the head
of very thin man

a guitar in a case
lies across to his back
a long wooden bow
across to his front
a single long black arrow
with long black ribbon fetching

he reclines upon skeletal chopped bike
black is its color without any chrome
resting on its side stand
tilts to the left

seeing him I circle the room
going counterclockwise about
following the wall around
the door on the other side

passing him as he
straightens up and starts his bike
begins to go backwards
clockwise around the room

as I entered the doorway
into a hall that spirals down
his black arrow passes under right ear
continuing on and strikes wall

turning counterclockwise
I spiral on down
close to the wall
continuing on down

he follows me down
turning clockwise coming on
and with every turn
the long black arrow
passes under my right ear
ribbon fletching fluttering behind

Spiraling down we go
turn after turn continuing
I going forward
as he follows me down
and with every turn
the arrow comes again

as I downward go
my counter clockwise turns
stop on a landing
cannot go on

he following to me after
in his clockwise turns
continuing backwards
his arrow still flies
continues on down
no landing for him

upon the landing I sit
watching him continue by
going continuing down

hearing a voice say
I must turn and go the other way
if not to continue down
if I would go up

Autumn leaves

Men’s words grow
and live their season
then dry and fall
to blow upon the wind
across the land
sometimes are found
looked at with wonder
Beautiful to behold
golden and rich
till they fade
and dust blow away

leaves of gold
made of man
words inscribed
bound with rings
passed hand to hand
words are added
studied and loved
carefully crafted
for another day

when words of man
blowing on the wind
fading turning dust
are looked upon
with wonder
treasured and kept
pressed in pages
of a book

words unread
from leaves of gold
truth unknown
beauty unseen
love unknown
that’s lasts all time
life’s unchanged
souls untouched

words blowing
with the wind
across the hill
till they fade
words of men