I Miss YouIt's horrible to say thatMy only way of expressing myselfIs toSing or to writeSongs which seem to have no meaning forYouOr me because history reads there is noUs
Through Your EyesIt was through your eyes that I was able to see,The dark, the light, the grey in-between.Although you only see in black and white,I know that your heart and mind are set right.You wish to run, to explore the world,But without us to return to, in a ball you are curled.Without your ever joyful presence I fear,That I will be losing something very dear:A soul that knows no evil,A mind ever eager,A tail which is never motionless,A friend, who is always there.When I speak my fears aloud,By you, my mind unclouded.So never run away,Don't leave me here astray.
Spring has sprungScent of flowers everywhereOne cannot help but stareFor the beauty surrounds us soAs another season comes and goesTightly coiled for so longBut here we areSpring has sprung
October EyesSuch gentle colors drip across your freckled shoulder blades.A quilt of puddled watercolors soaked in auburn shades.Spun of golden rivulets and rinsed in autumn skies,So many endless currents swimming through your lonesome eyes.Brushing under fingertips and over shattered songs,Unraveling like morning glaze against my paling palms.With beauty like October hills and hollow as the skies,The water drops against the earth will be our lullaby.
The Maxberg ArchaeopteryxI waited in a tiny house without a light or door,That each progressing day was slightly smaller than before,Until I felt the sudden urge to break and struggle free.I came into the world in only natal feathers dressed,Among my likewise siblings in an interwoven nest,Atop a shrub amid a land surrounded by the sea.Each day my father came to us with smaller lives to eat,As slowly I grew larger and my feathers more complete.Along my longest finger formed a broad and glossy wing.With wings to press me forward I could climb an upright wall,And now the nest where I had dwelt was also strangely small,And I could not ignore the larger island's beckoning.My wings had grown sufficient to support my weight in air,And prey could now be chased and won without my father's care.Observing my lagoon-encircled kingdom from above,Another hunger came to me beyond the quest for food,To recreate on my behalf my natal nest and brood,And prove to a companion my deserving of her love.For every
Yellow SpringIt came in tasteful gestures on a shouldered backward breeze.Ghosts of smiling children rocked the rusting set of swings.Plucking yellow daisy tops, in streams the stones did sink.While birds of cream and navy rode above a gust of pink.The sun rays pressed their fingers through the isle of cobwebbed clouds.Spitting shafts of sunlight lift the humming branches' sound.The sipping of the soil weaned as dewdrops fell in threes.In this brutte of cradled roots I lay beneath the trees.
White OwlThe white owl opens up her eyes,sways her vision to the skies;seeking out a creature's cry,through the woods' nocturnal sigh.In the darkness crickets sing,far beneath the owl's white wing.Dew drops to the leaves still cling,sparkling with a lucent sheen.Senses alert, she prepares for flight,hearing creatures near their plight,she spreads her wings into the nightsilent as moonlight, and as white.
On AyalaBeneath the trees, betwixt the stately pines,the Lady and her beastly Lord see all.The wealdkin loose their tongues and raise their headsto lift the forest heart with secret songs.And in their verdant halls, the twain hold court,attended by the eagle, fox, and hart,accepting tribute, as is their just due.A force of heroes, sleeping at their feet,lie cold and white, until the time shall cometo rise again and fly beyond the mistsin service to the King Returned. But nowa time more yet must pass before they wake,and life shall slumber still within their veinsuntil the Lord and Lady call them backto take their place in wicked earth again.Then those twain shall rule the city and the wold,and stone and steel and murder be laid low,for where the gods of Life should choose to tread,no grief can fall nor human psyche knowthe sting of death. The night will be here soonwhen maid and beast will dance beneath the moon.
To SummerRealm of new gold, and blue-hot raging sun, Yellow kept kingdom of the spilling fields;Blind under burning filaments that runLike blood from the bursting heads of corn,As sultry woods dapple with bluebell pealsAnd all the summer fruits of swallows song;Are shaded by kestrels, glaring overheadAnd jealous ponds are broken by the stares;Of swollen mayflies, peering from the dead.Bright Hyperion, who had never seen,The dark side of the earth give birth to thoughtsThat were not vanquished by a fiery screenOf sunrise through his airy crystal courts.Who glowing like a distant neutron star,Passed his hours with the lightest heart,Of all the gods that trod an ancient path,When fledgling then came rising Jupiter,To fell the giant from his roaring part,And cast him down onto an ashen hearth.Look not upon the lion faced seasonOr its brazen path for answers to life,But take the moment to trace the horizon,And float on the seconds flooded with light.Drink of t
PoetreeNOTE: The poem should have the shape of a tree. If it looks messy, your monitor is too narrow. Press "Ctrl" and "-" until it fits into your monitor, or follow the link in the author's comments. Thank you! In darkness sweet I dream I sleep; my fate to wait till time is ripe A tender leaf curled in the seed, an idea that would be freed I dream of bra
StarsLook at the stars up in heaven so high,All glowing and shining as they in their orbits swing by.The Pleiades, Orion and countless others so bright,Truly a dazzling and cosmic sight.And they have a purpose those glowing points in the sky,All so beautiful they make me want to cry.Those celestial orbs that fill the sky with light,Display the LORD's power and proclaim His might.
Into the LightThe moon tonight is, simply, a white noteadrift, spinning. It patiently tracks the breezeon the edge of genesis, floating in motes of static. On the surface, it seems at ease. Light filters through oak leaves and coats its thrall, the summer heat's slow weavethrough the river's margins to the throatof the sea. Small fish leap up to teasethe moon tonight. Simply, this white note rotates its body like thread released from reel, alters its position over nodes
Four Times A YearSeasons changeFour times a yearSome bringing joyOthers tearsBut whilst the wind may turn to rainThe colours of Autumn are here once again