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Monthly Archives: November 2015

Wait For Me

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Wait for me,
do not fade from view,
o’, dear stars, dear sky;
wait for me,
tho’ hands are weary,
and flesh may be dry;
wait for me,
that I may yet move,
and with heart, follow;
wait for me,
tho’ pains have yet nulled,
tho’ breath, yet hollow;
wait for me,
I’ve not yet fallen,
still, shall I arise;
wait for me,
for if not this life,
let death be my prize.

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Posted by on November 30, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Tempest Spirits

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Let the moon shed hours away,
as I lie awake, forsaking morn,
waiting here this tempest night;
for love is calling,
her hands bid mine,
my breath is drawn,
as her winds incline,
and I am thus subject
to her slightest breeze.

Let the skies rain down their tears,
as I bathe her in the wet of breath,
while outside, deluge echoes ours;
for sighs are wailing,
her eyes bid the moon,
no sorrow e’er beget us,
nor bliss fade too soon,
for we are unhampered,
unyielding in abandon.

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Yet Here On Earth

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I look upon the open sky,
from my vantage point far below,
as here, beleaguered am I,
earth has held me too long in woe;
if I am to speak of gods,
I must fly but with borrowed wing,
not at my immortal odds,
but, against what death may bring;
I shall then boldly follow,
and drift whereto the wind alights,
breathless of night’s hollow,
make merry on such gilded nights;
and now, my flight is flown,
shall I, in less ponderance of call,
learn what should be known,
or bear weight of ne’er knowing all.

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Dear Old Glory

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Steady on, my canine friend,
for we’ve not so far to go;
we must abide now the wood,
and heed to winter’s snow;
rest here in this ragged coat,
may it keep your body warm;
I beg pardon for your comfort,
no seat here may suit your form;
‘no dogs allowed’, it said again,
no mongrels born, such as we;
and so, we travel farther on,
to where another comfort be;
you are old, and bone withered,
no paths have you left to run,
so tearful, may you find, at last,
tranquil resting, ‘ere day’s done;
would I fight to have a cure,
and alleviate all of your ail;
would I run again by your side,
and once more, follow your tail;
you’ve been a loyal companion,
o’er every field I would roam;
rest easy now, my old friend,
we’re nearly there… nearly home.

 
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Posted by on November 26, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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In Praise Of Thorns

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Speak of roses;
not of the blooms,
not of colors
nor the flowers;
not of petals,
whose silken touch,
with tender flesh,
may soften ours.

Speak then of thorns;
their piercing way,
their agonies,
their cause of pain;
for without strife,
and calloused hands,
no mark to show,
life lived in vain.

Speak of sorrow;
those needed thorns,
and wanton woes,
avenged as bold;
for, without wounds
to know defeat,
no pride may come,
no story told.

Speak not beauty
that has no scars,
stood no trial,
nor bore such strife;
that beauty pales,
mere illusion,
no depth of heart,
no stay of life.

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Mark Me Well, For I Am Man

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I am old, and time is short,
tho’ I do not wish to die;
I shall not lie upon this earth,
ne’er to have spoken,
ne’er to have dreamed,
nor e’er to make my final vow.

I am old, and know of fate,
I shall die in my time;
tho’ I’ve yet to know the world,
that is where I breathe,
that is where I love,
and I’ve not yet taken my bow.

I am old, but in good stead,
and the sun still shines;
I still have roses in my hand,
no drear shall dim me,
no shadow falls on me,
ne’er do I o’erlook a single day.

I am old, and shall pass on,
tho’ not without stars;
earth shall tremble at my loss,
for I shall etch my name,
mountains shall speak it,
then shall I, sated thus, fade away.

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Echoes Of Once Virgin Youth

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In your eyes,
there is a strain
to the gaze you reveal,
not wanting so much
to hold me in your eyes,
but rather to steal
the reflection of you
which my eyes caress,
and then to shape
your unwavering gaze
into a form of submission.

In your kiss,
a slight uneasiness,
seemingly shaken
by the quickening breath
you now impale
upon those delicate lips,
but even more so
by the tremble in your voice
when you beg for my touch,
and the delicate force
of my lips upon yours.

In your shadow,
a dance of light,
unalterably energetic
despite a clouded moon,
as if your own form,
the fire of your soul,
has then lent itself
to fill your shadow
and spill onto the floor,
giving a kind of echo
to our unified dance.

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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