I think I can be happy
With the unforseeable future
I’m sure I can cherish
Beyond the rim
I believe I can be content
Lay down here
To die, my sweet.
The grass is soft
Of meadow’s wheat.
A pillow of clover
For your crown so fair,
A quilt of ferns
To shade your skin so bare.
The dark will flee
When last your eyes close
And with it too
Shall my heart go.
May Mother Moon bless
Your long eternal sleep
That your wait for me pass quickly
Until I may join you in death’s keep.
Is it enough to seek
The forgiveness of God
The forgiveness of God’s people
You do not need to say that you love me, dear. I see it in your eyes, when your gaze holds mine as you press on piano keys or pluck softly at guitar strings. Those blue irises are my ocean. Every day I swim further away from the shores of my own understanding. The far horizon is my goal, the deepest point of you. Do you wish the same, dear? Do you wish to float to the darker side of my dark eyes?
You do not need to say that you love me, dear. I feel it when you are near. Even when we are in our separate worlds, it wafts through the air like a perfume that only we understand. And when you reach for me, I am already reaching for you. You hold me so tightly that I feel I cannot breathe. But who in love, dear, has ever needed air?
You do not need to say that you love me, dear. Oh, but I love to hear it. The breath that fills your lungs leaves them to deflate, just for that moment when those words are pushed through your body to be cradled by your mouth, before they slide from your lips and hang there in the atmosphere. Who knew, dear, that such tiny words would mean the world to me?
I awoke in the fields next to
My only flower
The morning dew formed on her petals like
Teardrops, falling gently to the grass below
“Why do you weep?” I asked
“I have given you sunlight, water, and fertile land.”
She turned to me and said
“Who said I am sad?”
Oh how sweet is the scent of the first moon of love. All is lit in a soft and impassioned glow, yet no shadows are cast. No error exists or has ever existed in either new lover. He has not known the sorrow of her tears and the thought has not yet perched in his mind that no matter the strength of his embrace, the toils of life will once again whittle away at her slender shoulders. Nor has she realized that her wiles and feminine charms may one day be powerless to assuage his bitter anger. Perhaps a twisted stroke of luck will tie a loving noose about the fragile necks of these two sparrows, and they many never know the true natures of their beloved. And so love does become truly blind, its fatal flaw found in the banishment of imperfection.
Once when I was young at heart,
I met an enchantress of wit and charm;
I bid her may she fuel my art
Should I, for a spell, lend her an arm.
Her smile set my soul ablaze,
Eyes glistening under a spellbound sun;
And as we danced beneath its rays,
Our shadows cast to form as one.
Upon the mysteries did we stride,
Her laughter echoing as we swayed,
And if she would only be my bride,
This artist’s palette would never fade.
But with a word she stilled my heart,
And at dance’ end I knew true pain,
For, as two fools, soon did we part,
And I was muse-less once again.
I am running with God on my heels. In my ear he whispers, like a gentle lover, and tells me that I will be raised from perdition if only I bend the knee to a phantom in the wind. Love awaits me in a paradise of milk and honey, but first I must destroy everything that is me. In one psalm, am I a precious child. In another verse, I am the most wicked of all, not by some grievous crime against morality, but simply for my nature. If he made me in his image, then I suppose we aren’t so different after all. I am a wily and willful creature, too. The promises in one ear and the forked tongue in the other harass my mortal mind. Fear leaves deeper scars than a hollow love can heal. I have cowered behind the dogma of the Alpha and the Omega until there was nothing left of myself. But I have gathered the corners of my mind and together we run.
Ask me a question,
Searching for a lasting truth;
I offer my heart
You call to me,
To my soul prone to wander.
Your finger curls
And I am limp under your gaze.
You plant these desires
In a heart that has no treasure.
You taunt me cruelly
With visions of fields where I will never play.