Lines still incomplete

he yearned to touch her silken skin
to feel the velvet warmth within
his eyes would gaze upon her form
allowing satin passions born
which no command could contravene
before desires had passed between

A Darkness

I feel a weathered darkness come
cold and without succour born
from its clouds I cannot run
as any hope is from me torn
by winds that blow of deep despair
and in its hails of hopelessness
at body and of mind it tears
to leave the soul with emptiness

shine not here the light of morn
better it had never dawned
and that I knew not any peace
save eternity’s release.

The Dark Butterfly

who is this butterfly
strapped in black lace
delicately painted
so carefully bound
that even the sky
whose kingdom she graces
is not displaced
by her gossamer sounds.

Strands

this restless mind of man meanders
spinning silken strand striations
beyond the flesh and bone had formed
and in this web of situations
is captured lust and love and hate
contained in unsaid conversations
in lost desires un-communicated
for mortal souls have reservations
and cannot hold all threads in hand
whether conscious or unplanned.

Hope’s Breath

this breath is mine for just a while
but what comes of its breathing
surrounding us in the sorrowed sighs
of lives which pass us fleeting.

each holds within impermanence
the light hopes of the brighter dawn
that despite all, benevolence
will counter darkness ‘fore the morn.

The Angel’s Wings

who clipped the angel’s wings
that he would forever be
the guardian
of this thing called man?

“not I” said the god on high
“my angels fly from such base things,
go ask the devil
for he is man’s advocate”

when asked, the devil smiled
and pointed to the man
“therein lies he who did the deed…
for man himself holds the sway
over gods and angels, and yes…

…devils too”

Chanson triste

How many leaves have I seen fall
like pages from a calendar torn away
discarded browning yesterdays
that were once green tomorrows
how many passing glances
forgotten in my mortal dances
with strangers, friends and lovers
have I left unreturned
with that moment’s regret burning
like a cigarette upon my soul?

Poets

our incomplete lines
say just as much about us
as finished verses

Cinders

I turn to cinders
glowing red
deep within her fire
my passions swathed
inside the flames
of our carnal pyre

Fountain

the fountain sings the saddest song
in tears that fall and fall once more
reflected back upon former glories
days denied in water’s pure

the fountain knows just one song
and sings today as it did back when
lovers wished upon bright futures
this spring sang hopes and dreams back then

but now this song is lost and weary
so many wishes washed away
like marble bright worn round and dreary
to shadows of its former days.