Alchemisland

What’s for you doesn’t pass you by

I would explore you while the world I set before you was set on fire

The unsaid makes my ire too easy

I am the wounded lion trying to bite Androcles

Waving the paper my capers have defiled

Nothing I do ever feels right.

I write, producing nothing worthwhile thereby

Yet onward striving

Some inbeguilable sense siren-led to pledge myself to sentence

I was made to say, to not say is tantamount to caging

Meaningless as equations the turn of days when the eternity faced

Is effaced of grace. I brace before the slight

I try to wound before they fire

I’m the fastest draw. I draw the fattest battle lines

If I could claim back all the time I wasted planting landmines

And plotting tactical advances for conflicts which never happened

I would have years of days to spend more wisely, giving chase

To an amber eyed from the south part of a westward isle. Spice tastes

Slight, stable, shapely, her oaken navel evoked a myrmidon’s platemail

She had cat eyes and nails alike, for flaying an Irishman to his pips

Her lilting eyes wore strangely light’s parade

Ample light they gave – searchlight gaze – owl unfading

Her orbs, the seeing ways, absorbed sun and exchanged grace

Emeralds caged illuminated by paparazzi flashes

Flaming bands, snake-banded

Her unremanding and playful persuasion

Her eyes were the colour of lamplight seen through cider

Bat flight inside every sight her.