why do they leave?

why do they leave?


her eyes are drawn.away when.
they drift close.and shift as if
they never once beheld.your
own.and why?(a simple
conundrum)
for each will.leave.yes.gone
[why do they leave?]
did i at once conjure.a.
n.illusion?“those years before,
when we were young, or thought
we were, when eyes amet upon
the grass, and shared in we were
rumoured wrongs, a conundrum
too simple for one like”

“i know you not,” she says.
her.eyes ar;e drawn away; when
they drift too close on.a gentle
breese.wind.in my greyish hair:
“no, i know not you nyther,” i say,
“and i am not sure i ever did.”
afforded inside my venge.ful skull’s hole
that from ’leaks grey.oozing;brain.
down my lapel.

your eyes. why do they leave?
why do they always leave?
and were they ever there to begin?


The Fragile Shade

The Fragile Shade


If I were to treat with such a myth
as that which drives your soul, what
would I find?
Only I see that tenderness, only I
see the way you breathe.
(A lie.)
But an honest one.

If I were to shelter the tragic shade
within my corset’s bounds, what
would I feel?
Yes, it is only I that gives life
to such a fragile shadow of man.
Truth:
Yet not sincere.

Echo far, my lonely little life:
Echo far, my sweetest;
Echo far, my truest care—
And go beyond what I could
achieve on my hollow own.

Belief between us is shared,
but it is as if my prayers are not heard.


Three Love Songs: Starling, Spirit, Sincerity

Three Love Songs:
Starling, Spirit, Sincerity

Song of the Starling

 

There is a starling I hold close to my heart
   Winged darling of curious eye
Surprised in the brush, it doth depart
   I know I shall not see it again;
It was my friend.

Tender feathered starling, large as light
   Dainty and comely in the sky bright blue
And in the night it sings its song
   Upon the slender bows of the quince bush;
Then darts like arrow into downy throng.

O, voice so sweet, like lilting hymn
   Sings Christian tales of lovers’ consummation
I wish to hold its fragile limb—
   Inspect those eyes of delicate sharpness,
      And reveal scene of woed lovers’ separation.

There is a starling I hold close to my heart
   Winged darling of curious eye
Surprised in the brush, it doth depart
   I know I shall not see it again;
It was my friend.

 

 

Song of the Spirit

 

Beauty: pure be thy name,
     Distilled elegance.
Litanic lamentations of refined essence,
   Intoxicating,
To misplace a psalm into palms unworthy.

Foolish: Then,
     Alchemical rites of dusky biology,
Alembic apparatus to temper daemon’s sharp spirit-tooth,
   Archaic methods to soothe out romantic merit’s sooth.

Hands of prayer conjoined and closely tented;
     No phrases coined or lent to describe puerile tint and blush,
But those of reams of script enwrote in history’s brush.

The saint and soul exist entwined as contradicting tenants;
     They share the world, and see God’s lot of actions crying penance:

When for all we yearn is to spend our hours enriched by her subtle presence.

 

 

Song of Sincerity

 

A smile’s a gift of perfect ease with she,
An exchange of hands ’neath trees, ’neath rain;
I wince rue passions as she shifts her knee,
Project where her elfin form has lain.
The instances that comprise woodland tryst
Speak to golden wisps of hair from fey nymph,
The instances of seelie words I list
Flow o’er me as pure unyielding lymph.
My arthritic hand lends a laurel crown—
Such alms I wrought in care to thank her so
For what I wear atop sewn sylvan gown.
I steel the fears of romance, I forego:
      All other love that makes good sense to chase;
      Commit to one struck with tender fay’s grace.