He audits life with his mother
And plays cards with his father
Separately
He leaned in for a kiss
On the cheek, a crossette
To seal her answer
He never imagined they would become
Like his father and his mother
Forsake me, but I shall keep
A cameo onyx and silver
Nestled among sheets
In my oaken chest
Then your shadow will not stray
From the foot of my bed, you
With your white face
And charcoal brow
Only remember me in donning
Your gown like a night river
And whisper in passing
A word for me
I smelled the heartache coming
When I saw her smiles
Becoming yesterdays
Then I scrambled
Hands like a sieve
Fine and mirthful as he was
To rest I laid him, in the grass
That grew always brightest
And farthest from me
In lathes of cobalt
The clouds fell and he subsided
Pinioned dreams and reproaches
Darkening dark eyes
Of a kind, and all too easy were we
Though I was scarce as solid
As a passing fog, allowing the invention
Of wings and grace and gentle nimbus
Truly, I was never so good withal
And every joy furnished gems of shame
Bedecking the grass that grew
Brightest and farthest from me
Connecting to nature through poetry and prose
| Heart on Fire |
Thoughts, Stories, Poems
Un poème n'est jamais fini, seulement abandonné. A poem is never finished, only abandoned."Paul Valéry"
The Poetry of Emotion
Read on, it's good for the brain.