Leaving

These are the plans we have made,
when such parting comes at a time
unsuitable, but for its known means,
that all told, ’tis better perspective.

These are the times we have charged,
to which we forsee, not an ending,
but a beginning of something more,
this life, which continues, unabated.

These are the ways we have unfolded,
while still perfectly cast in memory,
the moments we spent in awakening,
the lives we have brought to fruition.

These are the tears of our goodbye,
to part company, yet remain whole,
when we bid sweet farewell to love,
yet hold one last kiss as a momento.

So, with this sigh, goodbye, my love,
as you walk away, remember my hand
in the last moment it held you near,
and recall that I had only you to hold.

 

I Fall

I fall, now bravely surrendered,
shedding past lives untendered,
into the din of everlasting joy,
this chaos of eternal wonder,
this earth and its surroundings;
where I fall, what comfort known,
amid this din, my light is shown,
and so, acquiesced bravely, I fall.

I fall, with worlds left unmended,
into this vein, my life unended,
ne’er to be repeated, for its joy,
that I should find another place,
a second coming to rest my wiles;
and this earth, let it keep me still,
that impassioned stance be my will,
and here, incarcerated wholly, I fall.

 

Bare This Moment

Bare your heated breath to me,
that I may taste it once more,
my breath at your beckoning;
and with your eyes, surrender,
that moonlight be understood;
softer than roses are your lips,
this kiss bares need upon you.

Bare your wanton breast to me,
that I may feel a beating heart,
my flesh now at your command;
and with your sigh, my undoing,
that only sorrow may fail us now;
deeper than silence are your eyes,
and here, in your hands, my heart.

 

Wrought Mortal

Day is not done, yet I am darkened,
Day is not tarried, yet I am too old;
no memory left of the earth I raised,
no trace measure of heart too bold.

I bid thee gone, no more this burden,
I bid farewell to thy menaced bane;
I bid the heavens, wrought with fire,
that its brave form have final wane.

I scorn sorrow, for its unwarranting,
I scorn the rose, for its sultry claim;
yet, in mourning of the withered rose,
inscribed in tears, shall be my name.

 

Into The Quietus

Once more, into the quietus,
such songs of whispered day
fade into the shadow of dusk;
where only a subtle chorus
of echoed wind, in tumult, stirs,
until the drone of unheard voices,
carried on the breezes of night,
with their departures and sighs,
becomes the song of silence,
unswayed by its own rendering.

A stirring of echoes awakens now,
bringing with it the breadth of dawn,
still holding to its foray, yet to come;
and across the distant landscape,
there scurry, all unseen creatures,
and in their constant festive dance,
the tide of nature’s evolution ebbs,
each turning of wilderness sighs,
never in doubt of their objectives,
as night has made its purpose clear.

 

A Brief Conveyance

Night sky, brave stars, vast cosmos;
I pray you, thrill me with your acumen,
startle me with your spectacled array,
bear upon my breast all celestial fire,
that I may shed light upon this earth;
not to outshine as your earthly host,
but merely convey your wonderment,
so I may then understand its richness.

Bold moon, Venus descending near,
beyond Jupiter’s grasp or Titan’s wane;
let your sorrow, its means, affect me,
that I may know the solitude of space,
and ride your storms of windless tide,
‘neath this sullen sky, effervescent air;
cry the world, countless skies prevail,
ne’er contain me, yet be my interment.

 

A Woman Of Sorrow

In the waking dream of my yesterday,
I chanced to meet, unaccompanied,
a sun-drenched woman of maturity;
the flecks of golden sun in her eyes,
and the sparkle of stars on her lips.

She is lost, as a wayfairing maiden,
from somewhere across the ocean,
her name, known only to me, Anjoli;
daughter of Ellandra of Avonguille,
far removed from her very birthright.

Her beauty, unrivaled in purest form,
as a light in her world of melancholy,
to the stars, there is no other sigh;
born into slavery of some Arab shiek,
escaped from her wretched concubine.

In her eyes, the sorrow of her years,
and the wariness of her burdenings,
yet in her smile, the passing of time;
this woman’s sadness so o’erwhelms,
I cannot stand idly by, felt of her pain.

I speak to her, but in my softest vein,
addressing her still as my own kind,
but she remains in her wan silence;
what treasure may I but give to her,
to boldly unburden her infinite sorrow.

Still, she waits, in her vast undoing,
a woman of dreams, a life in transit,
and how will I know her if she is well;
that I should be there for her footing,
so she may stand anon to face the sky.

 

The Battle Of Illusia

And on, and on
ride ten thousand soldiers,
brave and fearless,
unaware of their fate.

Away, away,
to join ten thousand more,
encumbered mass,
into another dawn.

And in the dim,
awakened break of day,
their swords glimmer
as stars attacking night.

Anon, anon,
they follow their masters
into the sun,
where none return anon.

 

If I But Speak

I am the blossom of a flower,
exposed of its inner sanctum,
the barest tendrils and stamen;
I am, my vulnerability, exposed,
bared to every gaze of scrutiny,
if I dare try, but speak wrongly,
that all might be broken or lost;
I bare my mind to the onslaught,
the next pollination of wonder,
inevitably arising in expression;
in the event of such discourse,
to what point shall I commit,
to what means shall I intend,
and if I but speak the words,
what manner of mind shall hear?

 

She Is The Rain

Rain, like tears of elation,
falls in unison with her sighs,
and wets the air with her want,
with but a shift of her thighs.

Rain, the cleansing of sorrow,
merges her flesh with my gaze,
and gives rise to her unfolding,
the wiles of her untamed ways.

Rain, the million-fingers caress,
awash o’er her form, now set free,
and with unrestrained fire to rise,
plays as music she yearns to be.

Rain, the liquid form of her passion,
to steal a kiss in the deluge of night,
and with each drop, to sate my need,
to quench her rain, my soul’s delight.