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This Is My Sky

This is my sky.
I may call it mine
because I own this moment.

I, alone, am standing here
at the very break of dawn,
awake and alive to the world,
and yet, am I still in dreaming.

I, alone, gaze out across
this newly dawned horizon,
with its fresh colors of the day,
still crisp among the misty air.

I, alone, own this breath,
and I watch this new sunrise,
cognizant of its daily chore,
yet accepting it as virgin light.

I, alone, choose the moment
which burns itself in memory,
that break of day now mine,
which no one can steal away.

This is my sky.
I claim it as a whole,
but only as part of this moment.

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Posted by on November 11, 2017 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Untitled

Her eyes,

like the sky,

whisper of rain,

but hold their tone

as she captures a breath

with but a promise of tears,

rather than shedding her full sorrow

in one failed respite alone in her room.

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Of Her Last Breath

Speak to me now, do come forth,
not in your usual disquieting mood,
but with utterances most profound;
that this news you bring of my love
shall not abide with silent disdain.

Tell me of her sorrow, had she wept,
upon the last breath of her repose;
that she was but at ease in dying,
that she was without regret of me;
shall I find peace with such words.

Speak not of death, but of her life,
the time she spent in quiet breath,
as if words could paint her final day;
that she was with tender summons,
and had been taken by pitied breath.

Speak now final words of farewell,
passing of your shadow from mine;
and I shall say a grace, if it be wan,
that her spirit walk gentle beside me;
then I, in sleep, may breathe again.

 
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Posted by on October 19, 2017 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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The Question Of A Smile

With your hand holding mine,

should my heart e’er be amiss

to that penetrating sensation

when our hearts do acquiesce;

save not your sworn tenderness,

spare none for a distant time;

for this moment shall not pass

without my absolute abeyance,

that to your lead, shall my path

befall to its wanton overture;

and if I were to lend myself,

quite casually and sedate,

to a sincere, heart-worn,

and most devoted smile,

eagerly sent your way,

and thus, too, perhaps,

with mischevious motive;

in an effort to sustain,

or, at the very least,

to accompany, as such,

the silence and stillness,

which lay so pleasurably

in the liquid of your eyes;

you might then, with wan,

conjure up the summer,

when our hands were held,

when our flesh was warm,

and made unfathomable

by either sun or moon,

as each would ply upon us;

entwined desire, as we were,

consumed in brave manner,

by that ecstasy which held us,

and for so long, sustained us,

in its bosom, or upon its bed;

you might then reply in kind,

with similar smile and gaze,

your fond acquiescence,

unquestioned and untamed;

and by that smile, made clear,

would all doubt be removed,

as we would be then assured,

both for our flesh and our souls,

our hearts have but one voice;

and any question of a smile

would always have answer.

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2017 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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My life is an unchartered sea

captured in every drop of rain.

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Just a thought upon reflection…

‚ÄčThat my words affect the page upon which they are written is of little consequence.  That my words affect the reader who lays eyes upon them is of greater interest.  That the reader takes something of my words into their heart to find a home for them is the greatest beauty to my soul.  That those same words might someday fly from their heart, be scattered to the winds, and be as much as a wisp of light upon any other living thing is the most miraculous serenity attainable; and yet one of which I might never be aware, nor need to be.  Yet, that my words are written remains as my inner peace.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

Grant Me This Life

Give me the unspoiled riches
of this most beauteous earth,
and let me not breathe vain,
nor make light of its genius,
but to think better of myself,
tho’ I am still mere mortal,
I may marvel at its wonder,
thus envisioned, understand.

Toil my hands toward the sky,
that I may grapple with stars;
‘ere but leave, scalded by fire,
and left blind by their light;
give me then wings as hands,
and those same stars as eyes,
so I may then know the wind,
thus breathe life, now content.

 
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Posted by on September 28, 2016 in Uncategorized