In Between Places.

Her favourite places,
Are in between spaces,
Bridges in twilight,
Beaches at midnight...

Her favourite lies
All used to be true,
Her favourite stories
Were lives that she knew,

Her favourite spaces, 
Are in between places.

The Mad Lighthouse Keeper.

Upon a jagged and lonely rock,
Atop a shoddily built old tower,
He looks across an endless sea,
He knows and sees his power,

He delights in murderous storm,
He delights in clashing wave,
Most of all, he does delight in,
Sending men to an untimely grave,

He laughs when he sees a ship,
Floating like a silent ghost,
How he laughs in dark delight, 
When in falls against his coast, 

His light, it is his joy,
He turns it on and off,
At his whim, souls are lost,
Like a candle to a moth.

SKIES WITHOUT STARS

I miss the sparkling of countess silver spheres,
Which reach us by traveling for hundreds of years,
But divine lady Venus, I miss you the most,
And count you the Queen of the Heavenly Host,
You always hide your face, from day light,
But here we cannot admire you,  even at night,

Time.

The early Victorian period is often romanticised in modern literature and film. The intellectuals in that time knew that their world was hellish and romanticised the medieval period.  Which was horrendous,  and in which people romanticised the classical period. In the classical period, they romanticised a Golden Age which may or may not have ever existed.

I pity the poor bastards in the future who will romanticised our age.

Seeing in mist and shadows,
Makes the stars shine brighter,
After lifetime's of darkness,
Endless evenings seem lighter,

Virgin lips and virgin shores,
Hold far sweeter treasures,
Than home's long open doors ,

We upon this Earth ,
Are born always to die,
Human Souls - like eagles -
Were made only to fly.

Moonlight Sentinel.

The stars are black,
And they are falling,

The wolf,  with distain
Is mournfully calling,

Unrequited luna love,
The Sky's unfurling.