Final Revision
Prose "The Burglar" by Nordic Cloud revised to Poetry (Prose to Poetry)

A man in old grey dehevelled clothing
Black hair, ruddy face stood by a fence
Walking deliberatly slow along the streets
Perusing a site to commit burglary
He kept rhythm with the fence pailing

A girl peering through net curtains
made a crack in the lace had begun
To observe him as he eyed the houses
Dropped the curtain she stepped back
from the window as she noticed him
Looking in her direction

There was 7 in the packet when we started
7 sticks of pure, cancerous victory

'better lock the door' she said

The old Sod was outside tending his garden
Putting those foul, spindly fingers
to a more appropriate use
Completely unaware of being
locked out of his own house

We sat in his lounge
Watched him from the window
Puffed on his cigarettes
and laughed
and coughed

It was a waste of good smoke
We didn't even inhale
and the taste made us queasy

i.

Interloper.
I have no idea why that word popped in for an unofficial visitation,
a declaration of immanence
as though it is meant to mean something. Or should.

I AM Being
Oblivious Grace, Eternal Serenity
awareness ebbed
languidly infused
undisturbed, ubiquitous

Thought stirs essence
a seed of need quivers, a fidget
flutters the fabric
irradiates a candle far away
now to be forever perceived

rippling breeze gently brushes substance
a yawn takes space from me
a spark of perception
I own interest

a quest incites energy
born exploding a singularity

colourful bursts of vibrant brilliance
shatter the dark

Those shadows hanging round my empty room
are hounding dreams that dwelled so long in dark
they dim at times then flash again and loom.

I often dreamt of blessed lands to lark
about and join the birds on trees and fly
up high to leave upon the clouds a mark.

I dreamt of children who shall never cry
but joy their youth and land upon the moon
with laughs to moisture air that once was dry.

sunder the shores
of thunder
taste the fleshy grasp
of shoulders weakness

curve the dark surreal
dream on knifepoint
dead its hour taking
its shape desired
by reckoning
and dread

there are brilliant
spheres of wonder
birthing in helium
heights
in dash wonder
flecked in sights

drowned in sordid
mellow
the petal drenched
l'image only leads
becoming and
sounding in the need

...

Angels weep as the sun sets
nature breaths a last long sigh
time for all his children
to listen to god's lullaby.

Willows weep to the water
As the sun bids the day adieu
The angels light their candles
and make the shadows move

all creatures watch the happening
and time is held to account
nature looks on through a mother's eyes
as the old miner's lamp goes out

Sitting on the deck out back
a glass of red wine in our hands
as spring wind varies stiff to slack
blackberry winter stalks the land

Your fine hair lifts and flits about
as season's zephyrs stir the air
my scalp chills where hair fell out
I guess we must look quite the pair

Limbs which quivered without leaves
now garbed, toss and tumble 'round
showing new resistance to fresh breeze
they make a soothing rustling sound

I had a dream the other day, it was quite vivid
Surrounded by madness in the streets of Athens
Small children begging for Euro’s from Mother Germany

Old men lit on fire to show their frustration
Trust became the wrapping paper of a gift
I could see the sobbing of wise philosophers
The religious say we lost faith in our maker
As the hope for our future is calmed by tear gas

Hast thou forsaken me for deadly ghost?
Hast thou forgotten me with brightly smile.
Thou art a greedy, heinous, deadly host.
The face that show your evilness is vile.

You are but a false "most closest friend".
Your lies will no longer be felt dead.
Faking friendliness at most twisted bend.
Pushing me onto a cemented bed.

However friendship stands the test of time.
Anyway I fear it won't be the case.
Your behavior shifts many paradigm.
Your sarcasm hits just like every mace.