The scribblings of an eccentric writer for your perusal


Radiant disc, without sign of chore
Climbing into realm of deepest blue,
Creation hearing an inaudible call
Yearning to bask in its living hue.

Bird aloft calls to loving mate,
Cry apart from malice or hate,
As a hidden tapestry of life
Unfolds, and forgotten is strife.

Innocence’s living melancholy
Alas, is downed by treacherous foe,
Claimed by poison strong and unholy,
Territory sacred forced to forgo.

Living calm made martyr by fire,
Eternal call bruised and battered so,
Foe victorious by force and ire,
Hero now mere weave and fresco.

Gracious tears of light and water,
Shed by once purest azure,
Searching in vain for slightest fissure
Or gutter along a holy cloister.

Swathes of grey and metal chrome,
Where once was life and vigor,
Survived only by dusty tome
Lying in its grave of rigor.

Luke Scicluna


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