Fragments

All aspiration by inspiration;
 
true poets cannot help but yearn
for words to douse the conflagration
of cerebration that seems to burn
 
like Anemoi in the lungs...
 
to expound in Babel Tower tongues
all of the Olympian things we learn!  
 
And then one day we see our age
slipping away like gods on a breeze;
an exeunt-omnes from the stage...
to blend forever in the trees.
 
The bones creak like a ghost town board
as I long to sport with the wind...
to have more Aether, by my verse, explored,
where the funnel clouds of dread are thinned
 
so I can hear the temple column tune
of the flurry snow necropolis moon!