O Dreams interred of erstwhile youth
Befallen by th' ills of time's passage.
I, ere a soul of bountiful mirth,
Am now but confined to a crestfallen existence.
And tho' memories remain of ****** Earth
Once I deemed my environs.
Gone now 's the unspoiled nature
And th' merriment of juvenile innocence.
Yet, with each dawn's ascent,
Whether the heavens are marked by ashen or azure,
What remains of felicity 's not spent.
So long as I have thee, my sweet beloved,
Til life's ineluctable end.

When in ken of amorous forthcoming,
And witness bears the heart
To love’s fair presence, doth life
Seem to grow of woes surcease,
And restoréd is joy whither
Joy was once spent.

But if subject to the throes of misfortune,
And love remains afar and elusive,
How the breadth of ire, of scorn, of envy
Befall the erstwhile ardent *****.

So oft I think on future’s givings,
So oft I ponder these undying questions—
Will I come to embrace my king or queen?
Or suffer e’ermore by Cupid’s absence?

The answers, I suppose, Time will bring,
And perhaps, I will find happiness forgotten.
Though, for now here I sit and hark the dove sing
And these verses write that my mood betoken.

Where th' water 's not opposed, th' water flows.
Where understanding 's opaque, frustration grows.
Where ignorance resides, hatred shares its abode.
Where dishonesty respites, malice lies too.

Where th' voice remains unheard, what good are their words?
Where th' voice remains unchallenged, what 's e'er learned?
Where force triumphs o'er fact, 'tis truth that falls first.
Where truth no longer thrives, falsity 's th' victor.

Where fear supplants courage, nigh are th' darkest days.
Where justice wilts and withers, 'tis th' innocent that pay.
Where vengeance wins th' mind and heart, with haste peace decays.
Where peace 's fated to perish, th' stench of war pervades.

Thus, reader, let 't be you who heeds this writ;
Who remedies the world's defects;
Who restores Good where Good 's spent;
Who bears th' light to illume th' darkness;

Who brings change where change 's due.

Spent not are the voices of the by-gone poets.
Interred not by earth profound.
Transgressed not by time’s incessant passage.
The verse ere marked by the plume of the pensive;
The ludic; the bereavéd,
All sustenance for the spirit creative.
Muses of the writers of modern age.
O art unassailable, tongue primordial, light of radiance eternal,
Bulwark ‘fore the chaos of a decadent world.
So transcends the poet’s writ the maxims of the kosmos;
Our ephemeral existence molded by stricture.
That which comes of the pen—
Embodiment of the amiable, and the embittered;
The opaque, and the transparent;
The leaden, and the gossamer;
The facile, and the onerous.
Oh Maestro del Verso, with thy ink and thy pinion
Art thou edifier of universes, of languages, of conscience;
Porter of tidings; bearer of wisdom and welter;
The stones that impede the tumultuous seas;
The safeguard mid the tempest coming.
Thy hands, they bid the wan and wax of Luna and Sol;
Thy mind, the river’s very ebbs and flows;
Thy song, the harvests’ bountiful growth.
Thy *****, the rains' arrival and repose.

Yea, poet, go on!
Progenitor of worlds,
Master of thy creation.

I hearken the air,
This splendid air
That issues of thy lute.

How thy gossamer touch
Betokens thy love
Hast thou for this
Beauteous tune.

Come weal or woe,
Selene or Sol,
These notes are
My physic—
Ay, ‘tis true.

Thusly, cease not,
And continue to pluck
The strings of thy
Delicate lute.

How shall I to thee confess my love?
Gift thee divers roses and doves?
Regale thee ‘til cometh dawn?
Enchant thee with amorous song?
Thou art my physic
That heals the wounds of Cupid’s absence;
That remedies the soul anguished
Sans joy and passion.
E’en in fate withered
Thy beauty shall remain unblemished.
Yet doth the beauteous rose e’en perish.
Its petals ere burning red,
Ravagéd by eternal earth.
So too wilt thou be spoiled by Death.
So too will the agéd hands of Chronos
Pluck the tresses of thy head, ere burning red,
Just as the leaves of the flower.
Though in *****, e’erlasting thou liv’st,
Untouched by time’s misfortunes.
Nor present nor future
Shall o’ertake thy features
As within mine heart, thou art fore’er.
Now cease I, for at hindmost of writ we come,
And again, as regards my question, I bid thy tongue
O bearer of my fancy, how shall I to thee confess my love?
May ‘t start with th’ three above.

o the wingéd nyx!
thou heed’st thy mind fatigued,
and slumber seek’st.

phoebus doth await,
soon to arise, lucent form!
such is destiny.

and will i wake then,
to hail his or-coated rays,
to greet day's creatures.

lark, thy song sweet come!
diurnal clarity, come!
when day alas dawns.

Still sky of ebony,
So silent are the streets,
Town’s quiet but I
Can't sleep at all

I hurt the most come eve,
Jealous thoughts and scary dreams,
Why can't I just turn
My mind off?

I've not her gilded wings,
I've not his beauty,
Why do I lie and say I’m not
Another one of envy’s victims?

I tell myself sweet things,
But I still focus on this pain,
And I, I wish that I could shake you
From my thoughts

But like snow in Summer’s heat,
It just doesn’t happen,
It just doesn’t happen
I wish we would never meet
But here we are again,
Here we are again

I heard you left last Spring,
May came, you turned twenty-three,
Moved back in with your ma and pa,

But Ma hurt, and Pa would drink,
I know it wasn't easy,
But you stayed ‘cause you were
All they got

You told them you would never leave,
Tired of the city,
You would start a new life
Far from it

Mom passed next morning,
Did Dad cry or say anything?
Or comfort you
As you wept?

I know you want him to be
There for you when knocks misery
You just want him
To care enough

But like snow in Summer heat
It just won’t happen,
It just won’t happen
When I close my eyes it's you I see,
And I’m scared you’ll find someone else,
I’m scared you’ve found someone else.

No more’s the sky ebony,
Cold dawn over Autumn streets,
Another night where I
Didn't sleep at all

Three years, we still don't speak,
I wonder how you're doing
This city life's become too much

Been thinking of moving,
Maybe settle down, find somebody,
Build something I can call my own,

Well I hope fate's good to me,
I've been down on my luck lately,
I just hope things start looking up,

And if cross our paths, then we
Can share fond memories,
And what we think the future holds,

And like snow after Summer heat,
It could always happen,
It could always happen,
No one knows what time will bring,
We'll just have to wait and,
We'll just have to wait and...

Wish for the best.

your flesh—
tincture of
the swan’s
plumage—
phantasm-blanc.
your eyes—
suave-ciel
like the pleasant
waters of
crete.
your hair—
gilded
gossamer
strands
like the
aurum
silk of
cambodia.
your brow—
grace
delicacy
incarnate—
like the
brushstrokes of
hiroshige.