Be Good, Words

I pray the words will not forget
that they were held inside of me
and in birthing these poor lines
I have in good faith set them free
in the hope that on their ways
they use themselves for love alone
and fight against a turn to hate
to help such misled words atone.

End

what pitiful death
is this cursed December’s end
long live the new day

Touch

your flesh is sculpted
in lines of tactile patterns
yearning for my touch

You Are the Cold (unfinished)

you are not night
for night I do not fear
as even in the winter’s dark
the morning soon is here

you are not dreams
in perchanced sleep
as waking with the sunrise comes
and away do nightmares creep

you are the cold
of tomb’s decay
that feeds this earth
for warmer days

Held Still

the moments lost in rivers run
will never be returned
but captured in December’s ice
can time itself be spurned.

no fated journey to the sea
nor mountain brook’s farewell
this winter’s amber holds the world
in its unaltered shell.

when spring its fingers stroke the land
as it is wont to will
the stories held will journey on
but now, they’re all held still.

Spiced

a taste of spiced wine
held long upon parted lips
flavouring this kiss

Fire

he sang poetry
from thoughts that burned in his heart
the words became fire

Epitaph

we are the dust of days to come
so let us drink and love and laugh
to please the flesh before it’s gone
and let life itself be epitaph

Breathless

I wait in silence for the breath
that finds it’s welcome at her breasts
for in that resurrected sigh
all my reservations die
and I am ready for the dawn
with all the passions in it born
and fires are kindled in my skin
for those desires deep within.

The Harp Decayed (unfinished)

the blessed harp of ancient days is silent
decaying in the rains of winter’s lost
its strapped entrails sing no more of glory
or of the heroes’ blood its songs had cost