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banboo associates
clip art from Serif & Microsoft
by
banboo associates
clip art from Serif & Microsoft
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the copyright of all literary content belongs to the part-time poets
(1986-2009)
Visit the UK Kindle store to find:
The Fallen
The Lost Property Window
Rhymings of a Disintegrating Mind
Also available from Amazon.com
The Fallen
The Lost Property Window
Rhymings of a Disintegrating Mind
Also available from Amazon.com
A fallen angel lies distraught
His battle over, his victory wrought
An outcast now, condemned to roam
He has no choice but forge a home
Far deep within the human soul
Where from the dawn of Man's first breath
A pit of darkness, hand of death
Crept there as the seal did set
To wait for payment of His debt
A pact defined, a plan agreed
Then soon does Man know lust and greed
Now the torment can begin
And from his lair of evil sin
Satan laughs, he cries, he screams
God's pure creation, defiled, unclean
Will heaven's light no longer gleam?
As with the passing of each dawn
A thousand souls do grasp the thorn
Yet still the rout is incomplete
Good writhes and squirms beneath Hell's feet
It must be crushed, it must be killed
But what foul seed eternally willed
Could rise and sap this sacred world?
Immune, contagious, without a cure
A cancer born to thrive, endure
There is but one, the perfect scythe
God's lock without a key - the lie
His battle over, his victory wrought
An outcast now, condemned to roam
He has no choice but forge a home
Far deep within the human soul
Where from the dawn of Man's first breath
A pit of darkness, hand of death
Crept there as the seal did set
To wait for payment of His debt
A pact defined, a plan agreed
Then soon does Man know lust and greed
Now the torment can begin
And from his lair of evil sin
Satan laughs, he cries, he screams
God's pure creation, defiled, unclean
Will heaven's light no longer gleam?
As with the passing of each dawn
A thousand souls do grasp the thorn
Yet still the rout is incomplete
Good writhes and squirms beneath Hell's feet
It must be crushed, it must be killed
But what foul seed eternally willed
Could rise and sap this sacred world?
Immune, contagious, without a cure
A cancer born to thrive, endure
There is but one, the perfect scythe
God's lock without a key -
Close to the end of his odyssey, the assassin Turpentine 6 (in the novel of the same name), pens his first original poem, The Lie
real or surreal..?
read extracts from
Turpentine 6
Turpentine 6
find out about other books by D. R. Summers
