Sinnerman Iconoclast: Against the World in the Palm of My Hands.

Wanderer of Fate

Call him young, a child of mortality
Whose eyes are pierced but sees
A soul of the seemingly endless days
A mortal watcher of time eternal

Forever on a journey
A travel in search
Seeking truth that is beyond
Beyond what knowledge tells

He of strong emotions, of deep sentiments
With the quiet joy that makes him smile
A subtle anger that he needs
The melancholy that he understands

Tears of joy and sorrow
To his unending task in life
Sweat and blood that he sheds
For a purpose worth higher than his own

Lies on the grassy ground of open fields
Gazing at the endless blue by day
Staring the wonderful glitter paintings of the night
He writes what he feels

Embraced by the nature around
With the breeze from heaven
The beauty of the earth and sea
He dwells among them

He wields the sword and pen
A sharp rapier for the battle waiting
A pen for the calm before the storm
A sage and soldier

He speaks of experience and of wisdom true
Some of ages past
Some of present days
With this, he aids those among the lost and weary

He longs for the truth of beauty
Beauty of the soul and body
Of complexions of pure feature
The soul clean as a crystal river

His eyes see the world of wonders and shadows
Like a kaleidoscope of the spirit
Witnessing the true but quiet mysteries of our earth
Watching the untold phantoms and beauties of the human soul

He loves and is loved by angels
Of whom he treasures in this life
He adores and cherish them
And fierce is he on their defence

Ready to die for love and hope
As all romantic warriors are
Though the forces oppose him like an awesome tide
What is that to the resolute fighter?

Life is real, real truth
And for him life is not just a theatre play
Not just a war, a drama, a journey
But life is the sea that has them all

It is the power of faith
Of things beyond our mortal realms
And the play of fate
The unknown dream that calls him

Ode to One, the Loyal Young

Tell me of a soul. The best of souls

If one were to meet her in a lifetime, you would be lucky.

So, I have met her.

I am not just lucky. But I am more than blessed.

She, never thinking of a doubtful past

But more likely of better coming days

She, never being unkind to ones who nurtured her dearly

But returning the better favor with thoughtfulness

She learned to grow with wisdom and courage

She grew up to be braver for what she treasures in living

Though problems seemed to haunt her, she always stands ready

As time paces on, I know she will be the best of ones

One day, she will be the like one of the stars in a cloudy night.

Hope that is bright that pierces the ever present darkness.

She will be like the morning glow of the rising dawn

A ray of joy set before new challenges.

She is the loyal young. One of the greatest treasures in a lifetime

Though I may have the wisdom of the beyond of the sages

Though I may have the riches of a thousand kings

These are ashes compared to one soul that bests them all.

And that is she and only she,

Vague as it seems, but I find it vividly true

But she is one truth I look up to

This ode for the one. The true and loyal young

An Ode to the Four Faeries

If one were to meet them

Tell me of them asks the stranger

Tell me of them

Have you ever heard of what faeries are like?

And if you did so meet them

The Faeries of the Fields of Endearment

You will never forget them

I am but of the Dorian days

Yet I remember them so clearly

Even now, I am a noble Spartan

And these free-spirited ones of beauty

I will never depart

One as the devoted

She is steadfast and true

Like the winds around

Helicon

that dance around her foot

There is that one youthful play

Ever young and innocently kind

Like a the Lady of the

Lake

of the Mystic Isles

A strong willed one, there is among them.

One of emotional power, touched by fire of passion and life

Like the nightingale, who sings until the end of night?

And there is one, like an epicure

Full of life and living

Like a queen who feasts with wine but never falls to drunkenness

So I tell, you strangers

That this of dreams is real

True as ever told

As time tells

The Younger Violinist

The violin, the body of her spirit

Her soft and firm fingers

The river of her soul of the melodic art

Those silken strings of winter white

Like icy thread, but with a warmer touch

Her kindly face of young tenderness

But her spirit is ever steady

Her graceful arms arched

Like the beauty of a Grecian statue

And her music, oh her music

Profound, magnificent, wondrous sounds

Every stroke, the sound of all season

Something enchanted that speaks to me true

In every string touched, a season rises and falls

In every tune, every sound, my spirit soars and eases

Her artful play makes nature at peace

And the heavens smile, oh not so the least

The sage is pleased, and so are her masters

We may have seen beauty

Yet have we heard one such as this?

Pure and seemingly flawless

Boundless, yet striking

And she still plays on as far as the time of youth takes her

To the greater heights beyond

Farther, further beyond her violin sound

Lover in Time

Things we both understand.

Things we share.

They are like bubbles.

And are lost in sands of time.

So I can never hold to them.

I gave up on them until I held to you.

How much pain.

Have you held to yourself?

How much loneliness.

Have you hid in your eyes to smile?

Holding the miracle that we met now.

If we stare at each other,

Then we could be strong.

And if we aren’t suppose to call this love.

Then how could we call this love?