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Her Need Of Sigh

As were her thoughts,
wholly unattainable,
but in that moment,
and as was her mood;
tho’ now well defined,
and as she was infinite
within her methods,
I could not fathom
her seasoned want;
the need of her flesh
which only could she,
in measured moment,
express to the night;
and this, she had done,
with blissful eloquence
and unwavering grace;
and so had my eyes
fallen upon her mouth
as she spoke the words,
granting me possession
of her most tender form,
while she yet retained
only her will to breathe;
’twas this, her release,
which spoke her thoughts,
’twas unfettered candor
which dictated her need;
and as she so willingly
uttered but my name
with a dance of her lips,
so too, came the night,
as some thrall of sighs
across an open plane,
echoing in my ears
with her heated breath
falling o’er my neck;
and so she remained
in that quiet splendor
until long after the dawn
had awakened her resolve.

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Posted by on January 20, 2019 in My Poetry

 

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An Unflinching Respite

I am loathe, but ‘ere shorn,
like a mystic ancient river,
stilled, it flows no longer;
stifled by unwilling pride,
that with such providence,
may yet cause me to wither,
for youthful days of revel,
had been bereft or denied;
’til no weight lay upon me,
save but vague sigh in tow;
and e’en as told, this truth,
‘ere without mind, it seems,
would then reveal its course,
or run missive without show;
for t’was always this removed,
not in distance, but in dreams.

 
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Posted by on November 22, 2018 in My Poetry

 

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The Turn Of Your Gaze

And by the wrath of your eyes,
in some moment of weakness,
– or perhaps a keen disregard –
strayed readily from your gaze,
only to fall upon the horizon,
as tho’, in your abrupt solitude,
you glimpsed some distant flower
which had well caught your eye
far better than I had e’er achieved;
was I now the unwanted betrothal,
forsaken of you by a mere gaze,
that which fell, not on my mercy,
but the vanity of a wayward rose;
take no pity on my unsettling feign,
that it be the last breath I offer,
or cry not for my dissemination,
for your desire lies now far away;
shall I remain ‘ere in dissolution,
unable to recognize my own death,
or shall I stay among the willows,
and, in wild repose, echo their muse.

 
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Posted by on April 18, 2018 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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O’, Hope! O’, Pride!

O’, Hope, had thee a heart,
‘twould enflame me now;
as would, in thy mercy,
bear my uncertainty,
for thru’ this trial of sorrow,
I must sorely then endure.

O’, Pride, flee from thy stead,
let Ease beget thy void;
‘ere this wound stains,
ne’ermore to be healed,
with Honor unbound again,
would I then have thy allure.

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2018 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Mother Earth

And how well you know her;
The sea, the sky, the moon
and the stars are her flesh;
had she breathed within you,
unseen, at any given moment,
would you feel her caress;
‘ere the stars speak to her,
reverent, delicate whispers,
and the sky calls her name;
she is sea, she is sky,
she is the Earth itself,
laid bare to every breath.

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2018 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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I Hear The Stars

I hear the stars;
their fires crackling
in the distant void of space,
the screams they make
haunt the heavens as they burn.

They are dear to me;
these distant stars,
as close to my soul as breath,
like long lost friends
gathered now for my internment.

Honey sweetened air rises;
the nectar of Earth’s breath,
a gentle vesper wind
which I had ne’er before known,
now lifts my eyes to see the stars.

I hear them crying;
as if in pain, they wail,
upon the strong back of Pleiades,
they cry for their aging dilemma,
and thus, mirror my own tears.

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2018 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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Pillow Of Winds

The old man, I say, was kind;
unerringly sweet in his nature,
’twas life, as much was to him,
any mere act of heartfelt joy;
as if ’twere a pillow of winds
which lust for solace of home
among warmer rushes of air,
seeking respite in his hands.

Nor, was he prone to dream,
illuminate his own life illusions;
pragmatic, at hand and mind,
life as it came, nothing more;
of what the next hour of a day
might then rest upon his soul,
did, in his respite, but wonder.

And if ’twere to die in his hand,
that elusive white dove of hope,
would his heart then turn away,
dying more with each breath lost;
and ‘ere had he a mind to lend,
instead, simply, freely exist,
as but a natural land formation
wrought cold upon the Earth.

Now, died, as he had lived,
obscure and unnoticed, alone,
returned to waiting clouds,
those which had borne him,
now soft, a pillow of winds
lay serene, in quiet slumber;
e’er shall he search the sun
for that elusive white bird;
and each ending of the day,
find, once more within him,
some flame left unnoticed,
and he, as inconsequential
as the life, growth and death
of all the blades of grass in the world.

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2018 in My Poetry, Uncategorized

 

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