MinisterOfMarks

  Through history we've enjoyed countless tales but many an event dies within the crusty pages of time, never to be remembered or uttered. One of these stories compromises of not the son of a God, not the daughter of a pauper, not the blind King of a nation, but of a civilian in the midst of political chaos, a civilian that cares not whether his tale is spun because his story is one not needing of a bard, poet or artist. His tale is one only needed of heart, because for him there is no mercy or kindness, just rationality and reason.  This is a story not of heroes of history, but the silent steps of a marauder who dares not set foot in the l

Without a minute to stop and care, The eyes that watch through matted, rough hair, I'll ignore their whispers, spoken within, As they signal their brethren, the nocturnal of our kin. Held beneath are blades of steel, sharp and hard and cold to feel, they'll tear you a new'n at barely a breath, And flee with your precious things, back to their depths. They look none the odder, just lanky and pale, We purposely ignore them and their stealth there does prevail, Because while our eyes are turned, their eyes a duly drawn, And they'll leave your body empty of life, just a vessel for loved ones to mourn.

Sell your soul to me, To me, I’ll buy them all so happily, I’ll cup them in my starched gloved hand, And dress them up to look so grand! To me, To me, Your souls to me, Happiness is all I shall be, I’ll dance, and shout and yodel, You’ll see, Because happy is happy and happy is me! Yes to me, To me, To me, Souls to me, I beg of thee, If I have to ask again I’ll poke your eyes free! So to me, To me, I demand of thee!

When once a man hath himself a foe, A Chap or chum who now brings woe, A rivalry, culprit, convict or knave, Or just a foul foul fellow your patience will not save. Do to them as they’d do to you, And mark their mind with stones you threw, But not at his head, though it may cause fun, But down a narrow path where rats likely run. Yes, mark his name on a road someplace, And make sure under foot he’ll fall from grace, Because none will look and think ‘My, what a Fellow’ They’ll simply imply ‘He’s marked for the Devil.’ And while no hand or staff be raised, An action is made and curiosity ens

                                                         Four Score Bound in not the Score of Three, For that’s too few of marks I see. Bound in not the Score of One, For that’s just one too many gone. But Bound within a Score of Four, Is a score neither less nor more than the number asked for. Marked thou name along a road, Will see to it your

Today is a day that has moved along quite slow, But at least nothing bad happened, in reality anyhow. I'd like to see more of this world in the real, But my freedom is an item that others have craved to steal. Kept within my windows and my doorlocks sealed up tight, I'm watching, peaking through curtains, held up day and night. It's not a physical being that keeps me in my abode, It's a silent moving whisper that travels with the cold. Suspicion is where suspicion lies, Deep within my mind of eyes, Watching, peaking, keeping me still, Wondering what spectra moves close behind my sill. The dry leaves crack under feet unreal, But m