A Master's Fall

in the beginning with the pale milk

rejoicing in full view for unsettled mouths

bright steel from the belly's of the Oak

perfect poise awaiting a masters fall;

the tallest ships sailing through the concrete snare

there are no fractions. only fragments of the key

lost in the lochs when once became

splinters for the eyes of papered stare;

in cold clay when once a buzzard swam

no life of fossil yet has fueled beyond

the stammer of the loitering cloud

the sudden thrust of thistles upon the night;

these days where hides the all

no more than just a brewing nonetheless

breathe still as dust and darkness rise

in perfect poise, await the masters fall;

let death stain the colour of brick

let the moors live in peace

upon the Bronte Stones Walk

leave alone three hearts in the flowers their poetry lives;