Thoughts

I think I do,
But then I don't
I think I will,
But then I won't
I think I might,
But then might not
I feel I should,
But have I got
The time and space
To be quite sure,
Or should I really
Take some more?
So what I'll do
Is wait a bit,
And take the time
To think on it! ! ! !
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poem by Owain Glyn
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In Rest

Lay your head upon these feathered clouds, and rest,
Spread your silken tresses on this virgin wilderness,
Then I will beg sweet dreams to come, and be your company.

When darkness drifts across your eyes to steal their perfect light,
I'll summon lesser Angels, who will guide you through the night,
And sing to you their silver hymns, in purest harmony.

Let your sweet form, in rest, adorn, this bed of perfumed flowers,
Where I shall sit, and hold your hand, throughout the long dark hours.
Knowing you will never wake, again, to smile on me.

Farewell, my love, my own sweet child, go now to thy sleep,
And I will pray, both night and day, the Lord your soul to keep.
You may be sure, forever more, of my true constancy.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

poem by Owain Glyn
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If I had Time

If I had time,
I'd go to Church,
And hear the Litany,
That says if I,
Pray till I die,
There's riches due to me.

If I had time,
I'd go to School,
And listen to the Sage,
Who'll tell me,
In his wisdom,
There are jewels on his page.

If I had time,
Then I would seek,
The Politicians view,
Who'd tell me,
If I vote for him,
That benefits accrue.

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poem by Owain Glyn
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The Seeker

I free my heart from this decaying shell,
To soar and seek that Love I once possessed,
But butchered by my blind desires.

I free my thoughts from this corrupted mind, To take release, and by release, to cleanse them
Of their sordid lies.

How can it be that by this short and light-less path,
Through forests thick with foul regret,
My failures find their peaceful grave?

Can it be that Love is that eternal?
That it's loss may only be a fleeting thing,
That yet, may be reborn upon this bed of wasted years?

Shall it be that Love's sweet smiles,
And longings warm caresses
May be adorned with Phoenix feathers?

Is it so, that Death shall serve up pure forgiveness,

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poem by Owain Glyn
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The Price To Pay

This blackness wrapped around my soul will never go away,
It's blind eternal torture is the price that I must pay.
These prison bars are forged from lies, it's walls from infamy,
To pace these floors, and corridors, my endless destiny.

I shall not blame naivety, or ignorance, or youth,
My own desires have always been the arbiters of truth.
I've cast out Love and swallowed Sin, the both to wild excess,
But now the Ghosts want reckoning, and seek their just redress.

My scarred accusers stand in line, each clothed in innocence,
While I crawl naked, through the filth, stripped bare of all defense.
No mitigation may I claim, and no excuse provide,
This dungeon built, upon my guilt, is where I must reside.

I write these words as warning, for this is now my fate,
That you might benefit from them, before it is too late.
So tread your path with honesty, with kindness, and with grace,
Or join me in these halls of hell, for that is what you face.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

poem by Owain Glyn
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Men In Grey Suits

There are men in grey suits who infest sand built towers,
Where they sit and they spit out their venom for hours,
Making judgments and plans which they say we must follow,
Leaving them to get fat in the shit that they wallow.

The Bishops and Priests and their dumb acolytes,
Spew out sermons and edicts and meaningless rites,
Whilst abusing the young that are left in their care,
They preach God's holy goodness in which we can share.

There are Judges, who sit, every day, upon high,
Peering down on the wicked they're placed there to try,
With their wigs and their gowns and their sashes of red,
They hide Call-Girls and Rent-Boys at home in their bed.

Politicians keep faces, at home, in a chest,
Where they change them, at leisure, to what suits them best,
Their rhetoric mixes both half-truths and lies,
With their aura of rectitude, just a disguise.

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poem by Owain Glyn
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Never Go Back

I crept along the silent streets, their familiarity painful and accusing.
Even in this darkness the sick worm of cowardice drives me to the shadows.
I know each brick, each door, each window pane,
We huddled in these doorways, to touch, to kiss, and to escape the rain.

The filthy soot-smeared streetlights search me out, to interrogate me, each in turn,
What are you doing here? Why have you come back? What do you want?
I know these pavements, each and every crack,
We trod them in our search for joy, caressed as we walked back.

I struggle on, the sodden wind invading me; I bow my head in useless shame.
The pregnant sky gives birth, it's cold, sharp progeny mock and sneer at me.
I know these skies, beneath them I have laughed, and loved, and cried.
Below this sullen blanket my Love flourished, then sickened, till it died.

So, why have I returned to this place of Ghosts and memories?
Where Love was both freely and honestly given, but dishonestly butchered.
I know this place, it haunts me, each night and every day,
But now I'm here and feel it's hate, I slowly creep away.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

poem by Owain Glyn
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The Planets

I'm waiting for the Sun to shine,
But it won't wait for me,
I'm either still asleep in bed,
Or busy having tea.
It really isn't very fair,
In fact, it's rather dour,
If it was more reliable,
We'd all use Solar power.

The Moon is not much better,
It just comes out at night,
When most of us are sleeping,
I'm sure that can't be right.
Some nights it is waxing,
And others on the wane,
The poor old Wolves just howl at it,
It drives them quite insane.

As for the Stars, I'm quite nonplussed,
What benefit are they?

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poem by Owain Glyn
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Do You Remember?

I left my life with you, do you remember?
That hollow day of sharpened rain and even sharper words.
Each step I took away from you, each leaden pace, defeated me.
Your voice, once soft and lyrical, now cold and forged from steel.

I left my heart with you, do you remember?
The days of love we'd shared lay smashed and littered with accusations.
Those eyes in which I'd often bathed, now but a swollen tempest,
Your smile, which made the Sun shine bright, now turned to blackened stone.

I left my dreams with you, do you remember?
Sweet promises we'd made, of carefree days and endless love,
Now turned to words that liars speak, meaningless and empty.
Your touch, once warm and gentle, now sharp as razor blades.

I left my faith with you, do you remember?
The trust entwined with love and understanding,
Now mixing with the sodden earth to build a final resting place.
Your kiss, once sweet with promise, now poisoned with Goodbye.

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poem by Owain Glyn
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Ghosts

Oh, these Ghosts that haunt me, nightly, tearing at my soul,
These screaming, wailing, moaning ghouls, my senses do appall.
My sleep is wrecked, and torn apart, my silence is undone,
And all I see are shadows, where the nightmares have begun.

Then come, oh come, and do your worst, I will not share your pain,
If I can't rest, then nor should you, bound up within your chain.
You shall not load your guilt on me; your terror is your own,
Though heavy weigh my sorrows, they weigh on me alone.

What dreadful crimes have you committed, to be treated thus?
And who gave you the freedom, now, to visit them on us?
Or are you just reflections of the way we all must end?
A mirror of the harvest reaped, is that what you portend?

So, in my sweat soaked sheets I lay, my Ghosts for company,
The Black Crow on my windowsill, waits patiently for me.
I do not seek redemption, or an Angel's sweetened breath,
I've courted Sin throughout my life, and take it to my Death.

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poem by Owain Glyn
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