Too soon, the pain, the ever-present past,
These sudden changes, hold their fires back!
And shelter me in shadows coldly cast
Across indifferent walls that dull attack.
But then in silent moments' brief reprieve,
The patient boundless sky chastises me,
A thousand laughing eyes that beg, Believe!
And seek the gift beyond the glimpse we see.
Too true, her eyes confess all beauty must;
That sweet expressions hint of grace within.
Her gentle hands extend her tender trust;
Believe! Leave fading fears and let her in.
And then in sighs and moans, serenity.
And play, unbound, with mesmerizing thirst
In shrouds of laughter, mirth and melody.
In safety, free, instinctive passions burst.
To swoon, the joy! The ever-blooming bliss
Of growing love, to hold her in my arms
And shower her in smiles and coos, a kiss
For each enchantment conjured by her charms.
to Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII
Oh would that you were right, inspired bard
And I through words conferred eternity!
Were this plan not so in reason marred,
What joy could I create through poetry!
To her, I'd grant forever blooming youth,
To him, a sinew of unyielding strength.
Let fickle minds behold unflickering truth;
The feet that bear this torch will run time's length.
Yet Spring supplied is Spring's rebirth denied,
For seasoned beauty grows with fading years.
The boughs of Spring till Fall remain untried
And I would not deny our weathered tears.
Though time is only loaned in finite flow,
Until we die, our love is ours to grow.
of the Dream
Of all the moments we in our hearts desire,
Surely it's of this that we most dream:
To bare our arms while covert eyes inquire
What passions are revealed within their gleam.
To touch, to hold, here more than arms embrace
For caresses gently gesture, "Guards, dismissed!"
And silent lips accept with trembling grace
This sweet surrender, signaled by a kiss.
I am my own best friend and I
Despair the need for more than my
Own steps upon this narrow walk
Around the unrelenting clock
That beating shadow, pushing me
Toward my dimming destiny
And should I ever hesitate
I hear it mock our crueler fate
Your hands to touch, your eyes to see
Your fragrance, taste, and melody
All must be sensed! I cannot block
Sensations in me as you talk
Nor can I to cruel time deny
That I do need you more than I.
at First Sight
Do I believe in love at first sight?
Forgive the laugh, but the question is so naive!
Youthful fancies hardly encompass the complexities
of mature relationships.
True, you are quite beautiful, but one cannot know
true inner beauty at first glance. It's much deeper
and takes time to be revealed.
Your skin is perhaps softer than the flowing foam of
some gently murmuring distant shore, but what of it?
That's not love.
I do notice that your hands are more graceful than a
ballet of swaying boughs and your laughter a dance
of dappled sunlight.
And in your eyes are glimmering pools of joy and tenderness,
warm swirls of innocence and passion, playfulness and
And in your eyes, Beauty laughs and plays and sings
and calls my name.
And Trust with Caution pleads and cooing Passion intervenes,
and Grace extends her open arms, and I surrender silently.
But love at first sight? How can it be?
thinking of you...
Sweet, kind, like a shower of warm rain in sunshine
Last week, a fool--not listening, questioned the volume
But in the following silence...
... heard your gentle voice
as if for the first time
on the eve of her knee operation
Beneath the flashing nights and days,
I stumble while the wind continues,
Grounded by my mortal ways,
Shackled by my Earthly sinews.
The wind, the laughter of the gods,
Who gently echos soft confessions,
Whispers, "Look beneath facades;
Listen to her soul's expressions."
A woman of grace whose wit and art
Are strengthened by her high ideals,
She has a soft and tender heart
Her smile, her glance, her laugh reveals.
Her eyes, alight with Psyche's fame,
Flicker with the joy of living.
Streaming through my weathered frame,
Are rays of kindness, free and giving.
The beating of the wings of time
Flashes nights and days in haste.
As subtle as it is sublime
Inspiration ebbs its waste.
Reflections glimmer through the grate
And draw the forms we long to be.
Open hearts unhinge the gate,
And love and beauty set us free.
(or, God's reaction to her beauty!)
In another time, we met...and we talked
a bit, we shared a moment.
The wind blew cool out of the north,
autumn had a strangle hold on our world and as we sat on a bench in
a park that never existed, the leaves tumbled down around us. I held
your hands as we talked about nothing at all, and I peered into the
depths of your eyes as I spoke every meaningless word.
You see, for me, to be this close to
you, even in a land unreal and unrealized, was a glimpse of what heaven
must be like, and I think the events of that day, which never occurred,
prove that out.
We talked about the weather, and we talked
about food, and the politics of this dream state, and the whole time
my heart filled to bursting with the joy of just looking at you, of
simply holding your hand...of the slightest touch...it was strange for
me to be this close to perfection...and then you started to sing, and
it started to snow.
I know that winter is your season, that
ice is your home, and the world was coming to take you away from me
again...so I stood then, and watched as heaven opened its arms and beckoned
you home...my ice angel, my ice goddess...autumn turns quickly to winter
in your world, day after day after day...and this winter was yours,
so cold, so bitter...
Understanding the passion in you helps
me to understand your season. You see, with a heart as warm and heated
as yours, your world must be cool lest your soul explode with the passion
that fires it...hot heart, cold world, a warm place to be...
So you left me then, so long ago that
it never happened...and I watched heaven pause as you entered its borders.
It is strange to see a reality shrug, pause and stutter, but I think
heaven had a revelation when you returned this time. I think heaven
realized that it's been outdone, that it no longer is the resting place
of the soul, that it no longer is that which should be aspired to...no,
I think heaven realized that your heart, your soul, and that space within
your gaze, are the home of beauty, perfection, and grace.
I stood there, by my bench as the snow
covered autumn's leaves, and watched heaven quit. I watched a reality
close its doors on itself and cease to exist...all around you realities
unfolded and withered as a once great kingdom of refuge decided that
perfection was never achieved until you existed and with you in the
world, nothing else was necessary...
You giggled then, modest as always, and
turned from me, and turned from the rubble of heaven's walls, and disappeared,
as you always have, as you always will...
Heaven quit, you see, because realized
beauty is so much more than promised bliss and you are all that heaven
ever wanted to be but could never quite achieve.
I love you, but you know that...and we've
never met, and we never will...except in that special place where hope
and passion and dreams are so strong that they create a reality so vivid
it's worth visiting...it's worth touching.
I'll always come back here to see you,
because you drive me on, even in my dreams, and this is the place where
I watched heaven quit.