Freaktrev

Dawn... And with the waking of the sun The silver chord is severed From the body of the Admiral's son The male white poet, the Indian one So that a time of night has befallen Those whom remain That grasp for him with longing Who has made his final escape Into the realms of the unknown To where no mortal has been Across the stream of his vision To where he so often dreamed far past the temples of wisdom We mortals concieve Beyond earthen-bed & tombstone Under which he no longer bleeds For with the torrent of eternity He is swimming free. written and copyright: T. Millin (Freaktrev)

Can death praise that unique face? The poet's vision has its price to be paid For the ultimate word  is concealed Within the palace of pain. Will in death he find peace & rest of mind? A slumber for eternity... Or the ultimate articulation Exceeding the art of word & speech. But how should he sleep When he is resurrected within so many souls? How can he reach the eternal goal...still singing. How can we let him die With his words still ringing in our ears & minds? Oh, we cannot let him die Spirited from us to the other side... Could he be so kind, As to forgive our blind devotion?? Written and copyright by: Trevor Millin (Freaktr