Friday, March 25, 2011

an unfinsihed beginning

I'll sell you a story,
A nickle a piece.
A penny a pound if your poor.

Of tragic young damsels,
accosted by beasts.
Of dashing young men sent to war.

This was the opening lines of a ballad I had begun. I liked the intro, which is suppose to be sung by a troubadour, but never finished the rest. Who knows, maybe I'll get around to it some day.

1 comment:


half a league half a league half a league onward. . . a wind which whips the puddles dry. . .my friend you would not tell with such high zest. . . here where the world is silent. . .he took his vorpal sword in hand. . .nothing beside remains. . .the sun was shining on the sea. . . all the kings horses and all the kings men . . . lives of great men all remind us. . .

Once uttered, the words can't be unsaid
Once thought, a thoughts un-unthinkable
The written word can't be unread
A dream, once dreamt is unsinkable

So exposed our lives are filled
With a richness incomparable,
Which in time will always yeild
A damage unrepairable.