A work of malice mingled with the joys of creation,A slender volume of days gone by,Cherished...

A work of malice mingled with the joys of creation,

A slender volume of days gone by,

Cherished reveries of bliss accounted for,

Hidden by me in a maze of dreams,

Unbidden visitors beware,

It shines in the light

Of which I cannot reveal,

A book of poems I have written,

Like a stairway arrested in fractured ascensions,

Trickeries of the mind’s endless jealousy of the heart,

Potions of death and life, unlabelled

Upon the many shelves that litter the floors

Of my favourite halls beneath the expanding stars,

I was always a mess,

But here is proof,

That I can hold it together

For as long as desire could propel me,

To finish something I had started a long time ago.