Posted on by veekwriter

Unsung Ballade

You could have been

But were instead

A ballade in my heart

That sung its brightness Into being

A sun from stars apart

I loved you with my

Purest love

No greater and no less;

Yet you see

I willed you free

To curse me though I bless.

Shall I mourn

For your lost love,

Your sickened heart to move?

What benefit,

what kindled art

Should I a lover prove?

But lovelessness

Is harder still

And brings on greater ill

So I choose, that should you prick,

My blood an ocean fill.

In that day of poverty

When death to me draws near

I will remember you,

(Oh yes,) In death,with eye and ear

So you will never know the want

That haunts me night and day

Though you may

Another love

My love’s for you always.

©2003-2026 Veek Young All Rights Reserved

Posted on by veekwriter

Reclaiming the Narrative of Good vs Evil

This is what a good person looks like. This is what a good person looks like when her political opponents had continually shielded, and presently still shield, their horrible actions by using God’s name in vain.

Posted on by veekwriter

The Edge of My Existence

I quench my thirst with

Hard liquor

To take the edge off my existence

I would have more than that

Un homme qui recherche les trésors

But none being available,

I sit perched upon a high moat

Afraid of the height to which I’ve climbed.

I’ve climbed this way because I was unable to stand

And needed out of my wobbliness

Now I see I’ve climbed too far

Beyond ever coming back

I keep hoping, beyond the silt-swollen river,

That there’d be a rider and horse

To wear my flower into battle

In chivalrous, shielding manner,

Unafraid of heights and moats.

But I think it is a dream I once had when small

Of a Green Rider, bearing the glory of the phoenix

On his shield

He was unafraid of that moat above which I sat

And took on the challenge of heights.

I look for this Green Rider to this day

But do not find him.

He is lost, I think, in a wide world of dissipation

And more harsh liquor

Perhaps, he hopes for someone to challenge his moat

But finds none but the occasional glimpse of a

Far-off, distant and guarded tower.

©2005-2026 Veekwriter All Rights Reserved

Posted on by veekwriter · 2 Comments

Beauty

When I observe that
mackerel beauty of
stars dancing on a
coal-black night
crystalline and formless
–my old heart breaks.

It used to be that

when young

Beauty expanded my heart to the full

as such elastic young organs are

prone to be.

But

after years of walking upon

hard stone pavements

past strangers with

Trenched foreheads

Open hands

That clearly marked

Pain

(anguish)

That such pure beauty breaks my heart—

It being brittle and ready to crack

Simply imploding from the greatness

of her guileless art.

Beauty leaves her mark on me.

I am one branded with fire

That I might behold her brilliance

For one fractured moment.

©1999-2026 Veekwriter All Rights Reserved