The saddest sight I ever saw
As I crossed the garden path
Were the tears of a rose as they hit the floor
Wondering when the sun would come back

The grass accepted this liquid love
The mouse drank deep from the pond
There were blackbirds and a robin in the tree above
Staying silent as a sign of their bond

For the rose was sad she had lost her smell
All her perfume washed down to the floor
And in its place in the garden by the dell
Was an all encompassing petrichor

When our truest hopes are utterly extinguished,
And the love of our life disappears into the night,
The resolute will to survive so weak diminished,
How can we strive on and rise to life's next fight?

In a time of mourning in our souls pure desolation,
Feeling the vibration of the metals in our souls,
Trying not to succumb to a feeling of desperation,
Whilst keeping within sight our true objective goals.

She

I didn't slay her...

She was gone when I found her

but;

overcome with curiosity

I...

softly touched her pale, swollen lips

and,

smelled her creamrinse-fragrant hair.

---
*eddy styx is my murderous, Male alter ego who writes dark poetry
.

He worked with his hands, worn and weathered,
From years of toil and labour,
His trade was that of a brickkie,
Building was his favour.

Taking time to unwind,
Playing snooker or cards,
It’s only right,
When you’ve worked so hard.

Through decades, countless bricks
Have passed through this man’s hand,
His needs were simple, a fag, a trowel,
Some cement, and some sand.

Working his craft, creating homes for many to enjoy,
With care and dedication, ever since he was a boy,

Dry and arid weather,
Smoke fills the valley,
From wildfires makes the heat feel like wearing a jacket of leather,
Burning trees in its finale.

Sweltering sun brings up the fahrenheit,
No cool down in near sight,
Choking on fumes from the groves,
Mercury rises to one hundred eight,
Hot enough to make you suffocate,
Billowing smokestacks all around,
Blanketing our blue sky and stealing our air,
Turning it hazy gray until the cold front blows it all away, and gets ashed out by the Oregon rain.

A Tropical storm erupted out of no where
Warring and tearing through the skies
No outside force can reckon
Can only brace for the terror and run for cover

Electrifying and jarring
Inciting all the sound waves into a crescendo
With its disastrous crackling cries and lightening frenzy
Quickly I wiped away the rain from my brim
Only to blink to see all glowing turned to night

Only in fairy tales are we able to see
all of the characters we are able to be.

Some days the pauper, some days the queen
others, the princess, sometimes the king.

But when we are nasty and ever so mean
the role of the troll can often be seen.

Whatever our mood, whatever our need
there is always an appropriate story to read.

Without tiny stories and beautiful dreams
we have no way to muffle life’s screams.

The beauty of fairy tales should never be lost
there is no possible way to repay the cost.

This field is not an easy one.
CLANG! I hit another rock
with the symbol of plow's disk.
another stone another shock.
No time to toss it from my way.

The plow cuts deepest on the turns
but bury's weed on straight ways too.
The first clouds block the intense sun.
I must get planted ere day's through.
The coming rain will wait I pray.

The demagogue reincarnate
feels gifted to reign supreme
captivates, glorifies, lauds,
renounces, yawps extreme
views bellows dogmatic fulminations
in an attempt to redeem
stolen 2020 capital one bid.

A STRANGE STORY

Gather around and let me begin
To tell you a tale that’s very strange
It’ll beguile you, before it lets you in
Before any preconceptions change

A story with no beginning nor end
Just a continuous plot you must follow
As into strangeness you will descend
And realise that everything is hollow

No pauses or places to draw a breath
Like a mosquito it drains your blood
And the prospect of an unusual death
As unexpected tears flow in full flood