Christian Muller

Would it be wrong my God, to like a girl
Within your Holy House? Now hear me out.
I am no pleb my Lord. Who would unfurl
The rose of her fair purity. Don't doubt
...

I came across a foreign jewel today.
I scarce can say her hallowed name with ease.
Well, I think it's hallowed anyway.
I do not actually ken her name, but please.
...

The sweet release of peaceful lonely sleep.
Away! So far from all the pains of life.
I come so close, yet miss, so I must weep.
For I can bring no end to this foul strife.
...

Under the stars she came to me last night.
Dreaming my dream, in some strange distant land.
While counselled poorly by my shifting sight
That led me down the path of fleeting sand.
...

In coldest crimson light of breaking dawn.
She left me for the dream of better lands.
And so, she left my sinking soul forlorn.
As her soft clasp slipped from my haggard hands.
...

Fire faltered in the night, I came to taste
The very last it had to give to me.
And round the flame sat figures dark, in waste
They wept white tears, as they all yearned to be
...

In the dark I sing your praise,
‘spite the biting chill of night.
I am subject to your gaze.
Yet I lack the gift of sight.
...

Excellent J.M. Coetzee.
Is to our country dear.
But I muse to myself
On the actual wealth,
...

So bright are you young princess of the flame
Your wond'rous light hits all things foul and fair.
Your colours put wise Joseph's cloak to shame.
Fine gold, cold blue, pit black and orange flair.
...

So clear are you, young princess of the blue.
You hold the seven seas at your command.
Your siren's voice can strike my heart of rue.
And fill it with your love. I well demand
...

So light are you, young princess of the sky.
You lift me to your kingdom high. With love
You hoist me o'er the glooming clouds, not shy
To gladly lift an Earthly lout above
...

So sweet are you, young princess of the flower.
Your colour feeds my love. And sweetest scents
That quench my shepherd's thirst. Upon your tower
You can espy the thousand greening tents
...

So foul are you young princess of the dark.
How damp your kingdom fares beneath the waves
Of sleeping rock. So porous is the bark
Which fords the empty Styx. That's led by knaves
...

A while ago I lost my heart to her.
The green-eyed witch who nicked it as I slept
A dreamless sleep. And I the foolish cur
So stumbled 'cross the wood. And wholly crept
...

This thought was good when it appeared
Within my youthful head. But now it seems
That all is feast for flies, as I had feared.
These pale words mock the colours of my dreams.
...

He hears the horns beyond the wooden walls.
And feels the march of fiending hordes. Drums that beat
Within his sunken chest. He longs for halls
Of mead and merry men. How far and sweet
...

Arise fair king! This dreary day may be
Your last upon this middle earth. Don't dwell
Behind these walls with cleanly axe. You're free
To weep while wighes do keep your gates and fell
...

So stirred by youthful words, the king arose
With axe and shield to face the final fray.
With fury of his youth. He broke through rows
Of crimson shields. And to their foe's dismay
...

How brightly shone the palace chandeliers
Within the freezing night. And Constantine from far
And bitter wars had made his way to meet the Tsar.
With secret letter in his breast, for fear.
...

The writer waits for muse to make him write.
But is it right (as wright) to write as such?
Do farmers wait on banks in morning light
To find the will to reap their crops? How much
...