I'll enjoy my stay here, but when
the time comes for my departure,
even among friends, I'll welcome,
intently, the paradise of
silence- where ever that may be.
I hear them around me, scions
of catastrophe, bellowing
in their own stupid revelry.
Their anemia has given
way to a fettered crapulence.
How obnoxious, yet horribly
addictive in their mindless deeds.
Divert your eyes, allay your mind!
Untroubled the soul who shares the
detachment of gossamer clouds...
Outside the snow gathers on the
landscape, forging cold scenery
where the chimnystacks softly heave
miasmas in the face of Night.
To a Capricious Girl
In somnolence, in insomnia,
our music a farewell, these tepid days
loom around you like a barren landscape.
Have you closed your eyes, stars above you,
and sailed upon a coast besotted with
the fragrance of rare flowers? You must have.
You must have sprawled across their weaved mats,
brushed your hair from your brow, and counted
each secret shed from the Moon's glowing eyes.
Through the air were hidden intents that
sift through your hair and lift your heavy heart
as the rose watercolors join the sea.
That night was filled with your desire to
harvest the sun, and now, forgotten, you
sleep on the tide as it recedes from shore.
I'm usually not a big fan of three-line stanzas, though your TO A PERSUASIVE GIRL has a great sense of transformation in the imagery. It kind of has an airyness in contrast to the solids, you know?
To a Coveted Girl
Emulating in time, and in silence,
were these subsiding assumptions we share.
Esoteric from you to me is the
radius from side to side where all our
ordeals correspond. Is that enough?
When winter arrives and the snow, like a
dismal blanket, veneers the trees and ground,
will this simple pen keep your shoulders warm?
No illustrius sunsets cascade through
my window that resemble the many
illustrated in yours. The sun, it seems,
is only a wound in overcast skies.
To save the night I sleep in the distance
where the sounds of my heart can not be heard.
Then there's you, my kindly epitome of
harmony, to permeate my closed eyes.
For an Arcane Girl
Being the salutary art that you
are, I wonder, as any troubadour
would, what opus is in those eyes of yours.
Like the last coin in a gambler's hand,
you present unseen fortune and an end,
indifferently. Alone in a crowd,
or accompanied by mem'ries, I find,
undismayed, adoration in your plight.
The moon, Eternity's insomniac,
whistles some falsetto accord for your
reverence that's heard as only the wind.
Suppose the Night reached out to reset your
dreams, hoping the sun will never ignite
the sky again- would you sleep languidly,
or would you satiate another day?