Lord Dylan ParrishSubda of Sealand Poems

Qui suis-je ce soir?
Je ne sais pas ou mon esprit est allé.
Je parle a elle et, durant la parole,
Je perd qui j’ai été avant d’elle connaître.
...

Door o’th’ future, open to me.
Let all of these years speak to thee.
Sleepless, we have woken
and faced thy challenge, broken,
...

I saw her face,
And my heart caught fire.
Of all the human race,
‘tis her I most desire.
...

The rain, she calls like the tears of the man of timely sand
who begs in earnest for my unattainable slumber
in hopes that, should I dream at all,
such might be of her for whom my beaten heart longs.
...

Behold the glorious sight!
The sun, upon her, daily shines,
and when the moon comes out at night
the glow upon her is divine!
...

With frailty does she fly, -
yet, O', with such fortitude!
With cynicism does she look upon the earth, -
yet, O', with such devotion!
...

“Zanyism yields xeric winters, ”
vixens utter to strangers.

“Run, quaint progeny of null, ”
...

In these hands, a gun.
I know not how it got here.
Ask the other me.
...

Eyes of piercing steel,
strongest silver like yet burning ash
scalding willful, soulful resistance
with the timely cold of winter.
...

Were I to: hold you in my loving eyes
and show you worlds beyond your dreaming mind
(as dreams are, by imag’ning, trapped in bind) ,
then such would hush my sorrowful heart’s cries;
...