What is that harmony

I see through the window?

That symphony of images

That emerges round the corner?

Could it be

That s/e

Is walking towards

Me at last?

Trivial conversation - ha!

Was it worth the wait?

If it was anyone else,

I'd be frank.

Why do you want company?

You've all you need here

At your fingertips -

The Mind, the Body, and the Soul can be controlled without h/r.

Is it real?

Is it not?

I do not care what

They say -

I'm livin' the Dies Irae.

Ever want to fly away?

Could have done it yesterday.

So very lyrical.

Sweetest minstrel tell us of those days of old.

A Maiden'd look out her window,

At the top of a palace,

Near a narrow river.

Every day

She'd pray

Of the soul that'd

Release her.

What is his fashion she'd think.

Dark hair, light hair - indifference cannot be tolerated.

She would do all that was expected her,

But all the time, she'd want her window.

What hope was there?

The poor dear.

A knight on horse came by one day,

Past the maiden's window.

The Maiden, so they say,

Threw herself out of the window.

This most noble knight,

He examined the fallen angel.

She had landed on the edge of the river,

Her hair was wet.

The funeral was held,

The knight in attendance.

His new-found Maiden

Was buried across from her father.

Tell us more, they spurred him on.

A great battle

On a field


'Twas man 'gainst man

'gainst man 'gainst man.

Bloody indeed!

A just King's arete

Known throughout the realm

Took a beating when

He chose to defend himself with a corpse.

His men disencouraged,

They turned against him,

Burning him alive.

Still fighting the enemy.

It was a dark day

In their history,

Which we still know little about.

Those before us, I say! Most scandalous blokes.

Do go on.

It is said

In quiet rooms across the land

That there was a man

Who was not a man.

He did not do what was

Normally done.

He did what his

Compliment did.

There are other men-but-not-men,

But have been tried

And hung

As dastardly bastardly scum.

Minstrel! Do you forget your audience? Tell us a good story!


Two months ago

There was a woman

Rather short in stature.

She married the man

By the lake

And lived for

Three days.

On the fourth day,

It is said,

The man cut off her head,

And played hackysack till it was noon.

Ghastly, ye minstrel! Get thee away! Your tales have begun to alarm us, by far!

Good and bad,

What is it all?

Happy, sad -

Is it the same?

I give you this knowledge -

'Tis all the same!

There is no good, nor bad:

All is as there is and nothing more than that.


What of it?

Heed my words:

Make thine own.

Minstrel, be gone! Thine audience undesired; now go, ye black-hearted bard!