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Night Talk II
Some days, I wander all the ways, then I recoil—Intently chase, along my ways, my own surrender;This knot, I find my Self forgot, how sweet & tender,Such lasting bearing & forbearing, that trail of toil.The Men I deemed unmanned so as not to spoil,The Man within, who combats sin, in weary splendour,The Man who fights’bove
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Amidst My Passions;
Now I, amidst my Passions; Stand,Each day,…. Each day,Each night,The Gates of Hell upon my sight:Roaring in all ungodly might.To leave this Godless lonely land,Each day,…. Each day…The dust of time runs through my hand,As grey,…. As grey…I find,My heart searing as an Aged—unkind,Haunting the shadows in my mind,That no sainthood can alone command,They grey,….
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In Syncopes
I shall always return…in syncopes;I shall always return–in lesser or grander deeds, or be it me,Though times lost,and rhymes rust,and garish living turned to dust,I shall always return,through “Shoulds” and “Musts”,That bid farewell to old mein one last syncope;I shall always return,To one I can’t but truly trust.For recurring, returning to the sea;To that one
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Megalomania
So, can’t I but do rejoice in ever-being self-made Be it a wolf or a lamb, Or a silence, or a voice. I am nothing but the choice!
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Making Sense
I cannot but remind myselfof thine sweet forgetfulness.I cannot but engulf the starts and make the stars shine again.I cannot but depart into an eternity of my own creation,& whisper God againof my own vocation,& my utter fullness.Wish I but can’t except remind myself,of the God uttered when disappearedwith all the screams I’ve heard &
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A vow to end all Silence
I am neither alive nor dead.I am the wave that sets behind.I am those words you left unsaid.I am neither alive nor dead.I am the mist that clouds your mind.I am the weary starry sky.Though may it be alive, seems dead.& in the wild I stopped my tread —To ask if Love has caught your
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Night Talk
At last! I come in soot and sweat,In rust, in mud and dust and blood,I come half alive, half dead;Yet cursed as much as blessed by God.I come at last to rest my head.at last, I rest,and tell myself I did my best… At last! I come unfettered by regret,Untriumphant, yet unbroken,Half conquering, half conquered,with
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A Masque for the Four Seasons
Winter passed & so will spring.It’s a solitary thing;Watching seasons go on by.Knowing — one day you will die;Such a dreary thought to think! Made for Love and worshipping,Spring was always true and new,singing songs known by a few.It wore the shrine of the divine,Bearing love, out of Goodbyes,Kissing answers to all whys,For what winter
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Stigmata
Arise, Arise O’ morning wind;and speak of rain, of abject painof searing stars — of godly wars,and all the wicked men who sinned,and blow the sons of Man and God,and all who dare transcend my blood,and fill my cage, and feel my rage,and tell me — one more time — I’m God. Arise, Arise, unsheath your
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Winter Ghosts
Because we choose the Loves we lackNot those we dare to act;Because we pick the loves we wantNot those that keep us intact; Because we travel ages backWe seize to find ourselves;Because the future do us tauntWe seize to be ourselves;& over time we cease to see —the ones we meet are much as we.&
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