A Song

A Song.

With a song I bury my hate.
A sound so deep it touches the fiery pit.
But my hate is strong and does not go easily.
But with a chord it dies.
And with a song I feel it no more.

With a verse I bury my love.
A sound so filled with sorrow it could make a demon cry.
But the sound does not affect me for I have no tears left.
And with a chord I feel it no more.

With a line I bury my joy.
A sound so tired, not even its speaker’s ear hears it.
An existence left so bleak, its light and joy gone
But thus must the chord be, for to bury one is to bury all.
So with a line I feel it no more.

With a word I feel it no more.
Because I am become the darkness thus, is the chord complete.
A life without joy and love or even hate, is a life of darkness.
A sound so bleak it could make angels die.
With a word I bury my soul.

By: Jeron Barclay.

The will to love

The will to Love.

I rise as in transient dreams which cannot yet contain, describe nor compare to your beauty.

Mind and tongue frozen in awe.
I find no voice to make my admiration of your beauty known.
This adulation causes me much grief.
I fear I shall never have you by my side.

Thou art my angel.
Thou art my sheath.

Thousands of angels in chorus could not compare to the sound of your voice.
I sit in glorious silence awaiting the grandeur of your voice.
For it is the sanctuary of my soul.

In your joy I find my strength.
And in this strength the will to love once more.
To love in its’ greatest power.

With my whole heart and soul.

By Jeron Barclay.

The Journey

The Journey.

Two roads lay before me.
Stretching to either horizon.
Leading to places unknown yet foreseen.
Places I long to go.
To see for myself.

My heart yearns to walk one road.
But it will not suffer one such as me to pass.
The road my heart yearns for will soon cease to exist.
And only the lonely road will be left.

On this road I will remain solitary for a long time.
One far off day, chains will grow from my hands.
Then will I be joined by others.
And one aspect of my spirit will cease to be.

With hesitant steps I walk the road that is left to me.
With each forlorn step I recall roads I should have walked.
For this loneliness is like dying slowly and painfully.
And only too late will I recall the juncture, where a third road unnoticed was left unexplored for it would have left me unhappy.

But at least I would not have been alone.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Remember

Remember.

Some days I can’t remember where I left my mind.
Probably where I last saw you.
Maybe I should go back there.
Maybe I can escape with it this time.

Sometimes I can’t find my heart.
Probably cause it only beats for you.
Maybe when I see you again I’ll find it.
Maybe it’ll beat again when I see you.

Someday I’ll get my soul back.
Probably cause it found yours and won’t come home.
Maybe it can’t be away from yours’.
Maybe being apart from your soul will kill mine.

Sometime soon I’ll remember who I am.
Probably my mind defines me as part of you.
Maybe I’ll remember when I’m in your arms again.
Maybe it’s cause I’m still loving you.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Misguidance

Misguidance.

I pray thee young warriors.
Let fly thy geese and may thy aim be true.

That love be not misguided by anger’s embrace.
That this timeless disposition cause not love to be lost.

Though darkness abides in anger’s misguidance.
I pray the love me or hate me.
But be not indifferent to me.

For just knowing that you acknowledge my existence makes me happy.

Love’s misguidance causeth me much sorrow.
But I shall not descend into despair.
For I shall rise even as a silent hurricane.
With power to destroy.

But wrath not ignited leaves room for joy.
And joy brings peace therefore I do not destroy, but laugh.
Laugh at the folly of those who choose to destroy.

Their destructive ways drag their sorrowful souls even deeper into despair destroying only their own souls.

Hence I pray you young warriors put up thy weapons.
Let nature take her humble course.
And all will be well with my soul.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Left

Left.

I suffer without pain and without sorrow.
For they have come and long gone.
Left my suffering empty and hollow.
Like a wasteland bereft of life.

There is no light that mine eyes can perceive.
Joy has come and gone and left a dreadful bitterness.
The acrid aftertaste of something too sweet savored too long.

Life is short and my suffering endless.
The mind escapes into worlds unbuilt.
Where sorrow is fleeting and joy abounds evermore.
Leaving the body to its bleak existence.

As the suffering abides so do I.
Until I spill brilliant rubies to the floor.
And my suffering abates.
I am eternal.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Copyright Jeron Barclay 2007

Grey

Grey.

My soul is as grey as the sins I inhale everyday.
Trying so hard to dissolve the things that make me hate me.
Trying to burn away my entire life.
To snuff it out as if it shouldn’t have been.
As if I should never have existed.

My heart aches from the blistering cold that I keep it in.
But I’m still afraid to remove it from its prison.
Because before it can get better it’s going to hurt even more.
Before it can feel pleasure it must swell with pain.
The pain has endured for too long.

My mind aches to feel love’s hands gentle caress.
To have love control its raging darkness.
To have light poured into it once more.
But perhaps love no longer counts it a friend.
And in this friendless existence it will remain.

Till time becomes eternity.
And my graying soul slumbers.
I shall ne’er find that which I seek.
And once more I am accursed.

Yet still I wait.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Copyright Jeron Barclay 2007

Alone

Alone.

My whole life is desolate.
From my youth have I been alone.
I grow weary of this lonely existence.
I long to go home.

There is no freedom in my life.
Only these masks keep me sane.
But behind the mask there is nothing.
I do not exist.

My whole life I’ve been alone.
Even when surrounded by people who “care”.
I am alone and tired and afraid.
I don’t want to walk alone anymore.

There is nothing left for me in this world.
Only the cold sting of a heart destroyed by countless hands.
Though it is destroyed my hands work on it.
I still hope, that I will not always be alone.

By: Jeron Barclay.

Copyright Jeron Barclay 2007

Sorrow

Sorrow.

This righteous soul of condescending doom lingers disconsolately among the darkened masses of people.
Prayer moves and shapes the soul to a man of god.
Though I do not serve him always I do love him.

The loss of love causes me to reconcile deeper into god.
Let the end come.
Let us move toward Armageddon.
Let the flesh die and the spirit alone live.
Perhaps there will be joy for me in Valhalla.

I rise upon the silent hurricane winds casting my dark solemn existence deep into the abyss.
There is no love for me in this world.
Love has gone from my life.
Not of death, but of the stark cold refusal to reciprocate my love,

I raise my voice and fill the wasteland about me with my woe.
My sorrow joins the cry of the desolate wolf and the wail of whistling branches, an unholy chorus permeating everything in this place.
Driving me closer to death.

YEA I AM FORTUNEFULL.

By: Jeron Barclay.

copyright Jeron Barclay 2007

Curse's End

Curse’s End.

What manner of sorrow is this that joy should not permit but encourages?
That what defiance love shows is swept by misplaced tears away to places unknown yet foreseen.

That loves ears be love’s guide.
And love’s heart be love’s home
That love’s hand hold love’s mind.
And my love’s memory not fade.

As this love be not lost the mark of the accursed is fled of me.
As the silent storm subsides and the pliable darkness removes.

That love’s eyes behold love’s face.
And love’s remembrance never fail.
That love’s arms stretch beyond love’s divide.
And hold onto love for all time.

Till the curse is no more, and love is no longer divided.
Till the two have become one and even beyond thus.
I shall ever cling to this love.
And I shall love thee with a perfect love.

By: Jeron Barclay.

copyright Jeron Barclay 2007

Crawling

Crawling.

I feel you.
Crawling under my skin.
Soothing my hate like a healing balm.
This potent emotion boils in the cauldron of my soul.
For the first time I feel warmth in the arctic stone of my heart.

Thawing slowly the warmth draws me away from the edge.
Calms my tormented mind.
Makes me feel like a child.
So full of wonder and love.

You crawl into my heart, now a hot, red, pulsating form.
Making me believe I can love.
Making me believe I am worthy of love.
Healing the wounds of the past.

I feel your soul.
Crawling into mine.
Repairing my shattered mind.
Making me whole.

Fulfilling the essence of me.

By: Jeron Barclay.

copyright Jeron Barclay 2007