I am this poet of none renown ~ here to set the writ of legend sound

For all true poets of right-fitting birth ~ are tried and trued in the furnace of earth

And I, but the sole and lowly bard of cloud ~ am the only here, to cry aloud

To tell the tales of smoke and puff ~ and reveal to ye the essence of stuff

where and when and how ye legends were first born

twilight-firefly-fairy and dragon’s vapor of an early morn

Though castles of dreams be built upon rock and stone

foundations are not as they appear alone

For each stone - each rock are made of grain ~ The sands of time and The tears of rain

dried of wind and baked by sun ~ each a single thought of one

And some say to reign ~ ye must explain

were these of the gods that made us this kind of mortal

or imagined of we, that made this creator portal

For truth drips like honey from the womb ~ loses its sweetness in route to the tomb

our lips cry, "Oh King Live Forever," ~ but the voice of the heart is we to cease for never

We fight and kill and plunder for gain ~ but the stack of our taken eases not the pain

For we seek a City whose builder and maker is God

be it one’s self, created, Creator and we find it odd

To push and pull for what we seek ~ yet somehow it is the reign of meek

and if the mind and heart cannot break it down ~ the clarion call doth make the sound

that if the revelation doth not to us erupt ~ even the city of The Clouds shall we make up

Rock and stone and rain and grain ~ sands of time and labor pain

Thoughts and deeds, dreams and clouds, but mere vapor and puff

Aye, it is laid up - laid down

WORDS be the essence of stuff

and I this lowly bard herein am set to tell

And pleasant fare to thee seeker – journey well

from the collection: THE CITY OF THE CLOUDS

by the same author

City 1

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