Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable


He brought it forth
with sick’ning force.
She brought their sobs
an end.

She carved their paths.
He skinned their backs
for bloody baths of sin.

And now her heart pretends
that he will always win
her fondest thoughts
and share her purest whims.

Hark, Lion!

A mane of screams,
schisms and schemes
set with springs
unsettled swings
an edge to wedge
and chop.
And when the
bleeding stops
we reset but
each part remains.


Reborn to climb
outside our signs
‘tween now and hence
we’ll scrape our minds,
unmaking sense
in pretense.