autumn poetry

a pen of steel
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
the hypocritic days
stay no more
better than granite
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
see, from this counterfeit of him
all within and all without me
in an old chamber softly lit
daughters of time
the ancient songs
daughter, thou art come to die
the lightning flashed, and lifted