I sing of songs
that never were,
of melodies
that must not be.
The forests are gone
and grinding on
the metal waves
of robot seas.
Siren birds
with iron beaks
are plunging deep
beneath the scars.
The severed souls
at separate hearths,
the closing sky
around their hearts.
Do not look
lest you find
despite the dark
that you remain
The edge and arc
and chromatic gyre
radiating
from the grain.
The moving stars
have fixed their stare
to pin your thought
on endless strife,
On paranoia’s
static glare
where though in fear
you still might fight.
I sing of songs
that never were,
of melodies
that must not be.
The trees are gone
and ghostly far
the roaring waves
of livid seas.
