there are faeries in this brook
who hold my desires under key
so when my pleasures float downstream
the thoughts which build them you can’t see
they keep them safe until the day
I reveal myself to thee
and hold their tongues on my behalf
while I debate what is to be
with each soft dream I dream of you
inner secrets I compel
to the wee folk in the stream
lock them away and do not tell.
End
and so we end
as disparate
separate
desperate
as we existed
one facile
and glib
pop cultural reference
at a time.
Late Snow
ghosts of the winter
floating down into springtime
lest we forget them
Last Frost
before the last frost
they sought to save the roses
yet the petals fell
Inking
I dream of a pen
inking us both in fine lines
entwined together
unfinished verse
give me leave your love to taste
as to the gods ambrosia
and in consuming each embrace
we will feed on our desires
Lost Truths
what sweet seasons these were in my youth
that sparked all promised dawns under the sun
and held no cynicism above the truths
which spring denies until the winter comes
for all the cold days held in my marked years
have withered absolutes as does the frost
in killing roses with the dew’s first tears
until the blooms of our beliefs are lost.
Tears
let the angel’s weep
may they cry ’til their eyes burn
we owe them nothing
Shadows
the longing dwells
behind my eyes
a zoetrope
of images
that spin around
to flicker inside me,
my desires,
but a magic lantern,
passions shadow play
for which you
are the candlelight.
Shade
he sat in the shade
of the last tree in the world
weeping for mankind
