There is a wellness deep inside
like the swelling of an ocean wave
it curdles over in flowing foam
and crashes in devastating rage,
but countenance is non consoling
to such a tyrannical kind of play
it dismisses the song of dashing
in an effortless breath of disdain,
yet the waters don’t go so easily
they thrash upon the brow
pulling and tugging asunder
crushing deep as that of a plow,
but soon the shorelines fall silent
where the sea has come to reseed
and calmness now is all knowing
with gentle gestures of one to take heed.
Quietly, my sweet to lay you down
upon prairies of unclear patterns
tattered stitching held undone
and fabric that folds in shades;
torn at the knees from the run.
The golden light of moments lost
still shutter upon the eyes
where fingers used to clear the cry
and breath of my full kisses;
now lingering only this tender sigh.
Remember all the love and laughter
at the onset of our flame
when rain itself was folly
two souls in wild untame,
and now the waters a shore of tears
that fill up many buckets
where the valley has all but dried up
and silence has killed the ruckus.
The drawn out strum of yesteryear
among the trickles of my mind
pervasive gentle wanderings
for the footing left to find,
a hand from each a palm
to feel the roughen strewn
reaching among the blurry words
of a bloody laden plume.
Little nudging verses
that flutter across the page
beautiful rhymes of stifling
or concise and widespread rage,
the breath is seldom known
from the anguish of this pen
each release a darkened womb
of the listless, whom they and them.
I fell in love this night
with someone I have not seen
someone I have not heard,
and someone I truly do not know.
Yet hear the heart it skips a beat
at the song of her written words
touching me at every verse
as the chorus of chiming birds.
But be still my avid soul
for such things will carry away;
the emotions onto mountain heights
and cries that fathom the sea,
leaving one to splash the shores
on bent and broken knees.
But I do look sweet lover
to the ever sullen woods
in a place with no memory
with why, how, and could,
but to each that I proclaim
the volume turns up short
and every beat is twisted
into some recoiling retort,
reality it would seem
is nothing but the tale
and living is a story
as in the belly of ones whale.
To ponder for even a moment
that consciousness is to ‘I think’
to be aware of this surrounding
in the wonders of a place
to where no human has gleaned afore,
along the waters edge
swimming through each step
and understanding every nothing
as the precious experience
of a lingering future vision.
Its not the tears that make me cry
but the wonder of their springs
that which beats upon their strings
coursing through the mind,
the ever spreading golden rings
that weep within my eyes.
This countenance of singing trickles
that ever flows the stream
a consciousness of rutting waves
gently swaying to the dream,
remembrance from a long ago
that cradle along the creek,
making for the running waters
my heart, my soul, too deep.
Not every light is illumination
For some its a darker deep
where things are lurking on every whim
and the quill records every creep,
a mind full of static resonation
always swimming in shadowed air
sights and sounds of unseemly
here the author partakes of the rare,
but nothing is free that is gleamed
and the price too is quite steep
for every word that is written
the shadows in return get their reap.