Need of wanting

Take me to your Haven

Strand me on your shore

Haunt me like Poe’s raven

and crave me evermore

 

Make me your conclusion

To be or not to be

confuse me in your ocean

to the movement of our sea

pillars_revisitedeny not the light from stars that mute through the midday sky;

Let me answer you in certainty till you forget to wonder why.

 

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Reformation

In the beginning the end was implicit

in the living of the dream it became a thing of fear

that destruction was explicit and ever presently near

where all order is reduced to chaos for the reformation

of something quite unclear.

 

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Beginnings End

Sometimes I want to see it burn

from sea to sky in turn

ending at that stained saltire

bearing more than your sincere desire

to reap what had been sewn

with proprietors for spaces where nothing can be owned.

 

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The Obfuscation of Beauty

Pretty was the thing that looked but rarely pondered

Lusted and listed on the sordid scene while the glorious mind had wandered

into places and spaces only demons and fairy’s could stay

seeing clouds pass through hours till dusk diminished the day

where dreams are all around us becoming of our hearts

no brighter is the sun nor darker its shadows from these arts

where feelings and ambitions slay faulty superstitions

and angels dare love and then leave us with Lurid lucid visions.

that shine as the sun from within, its brilliance casting shadows off my soul

to divide these perceptions into merged recollections

and blend us together as whole.

 

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Sentiments

What somnolent recompense compells the sea to surge beneath each winds caress

driving ripples across the desert plains distress

piercing the soul like a needles incision

injecting the inky loneliness until it flows into places I’d rather not envision.

chasing sordid dreams, not mine, to behold

leaves me aching for tales beyond the veil of anything yet to be told.

 

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with admiration (a non poem)

This love flows without question or request,

These words move freely, hate them or refuse to take them, they will always be what they are;

Droplets hidden in the pattern of the rained out rivers of time.

My words will always be briefly mine that I slowly release into a universe of enmity,

shining like the stars on the far side of a horizon some may never transect,

until you feel yourself swimming in these silent somnolent sentiments glimmering in the darkness and light so easily reflected off this ocean of my words.

They will always be trickling over every one in my life with respect and admiration for your companionship, friendship and love.

 

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Whispers

There are whispers in a motion that comes from deep within

where choices stifle voices that notion beside a sin

there is betrayal of the self that bides its heart of shelf

and bids its owner bitter as the mystic of an elf

There are lies and indisgressions that fail to teach their lessons

as judgment passed its vapid verdent verdict over life’s concessions.

there is heartlessness and pain that bathes us in its rain

as we journey on a path that guides our souls in vane.

 

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Words

Ink, somnolence, ocean, time, rhythm, rhyme…

These are some of the words that stifle my voice in trying to describe what I’ve yet to elate.

Only a fool dare contemplate an ocean as he drowns from its obviousness.

only a poet cold hope to unlock the mystery of death to spare his breath,

where at last gasp his pent up penchant dream for lyric timing breaks free from his inner iambic pentameters grips

and slips and fits and spurts to mar the page where bards become shards in fits of silent rage at the realization that even the greats left officially forgiven misspellings and misquotes in-situe, woven deeply into their wisdom’s foolishness.

Parry the phrase that labels us hacks and beat down the moment it lacks

The naysayers always say nay at what they fail to comprehend, in the humblest beginnings of the end.

 

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Sadness blows in gusts

Words pierce the soul like knives,

when lies contaminate dreams.

trickling and tickling like warm red drops into streams,

moistening and coloring the hopes of lives without heart

that soon became the putty of a clay makers art.

Sunlight became like a game; the antithesis of salvation,

shade made obsequious love to the day.

sadness blew into every crevice, with the dust of elation,

where romance and youth awash in the spray.

as Art became itself in the moment, the artist had wasted away.

 

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Choke down the sound

Touch what these expressions have done to all our other thoughts, 

sense what the unseen mind elates through the flavor of these things, 

for when those intimations fall to naught, 

this world pauses as the dawn senses of its being… 

tempests of pain brood beneath thunderous ringing;

as wind howls mercilessly upon opened dreams across indiscreet planes and the sweat stricken backs of undulating herds, 

while the subtle soul becomes convinced…
those wretched sounds are words.

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