New Poems

Every day, discovery.

I carry flowers waiting for my lost love to return

My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
Alone in the valley of silent echoes,
I lie behind a wall, immersed
And torn between the clashing shadows.
 
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
I sear through the metal of your skin,
Immense in the timeless night and cursed,
Disturbed in the chains that wear me thin.
 
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.
The fire that melts this stone to glass
Turns liquid like a wave, submersed
In the choral song of love’s last mass.
 
My voice is broken, wounded of thirst.

By chance I saw her at the corner
Of Fifth and Forty-Eight;
The crowd moved past, we talked at last,
And smiled as on a date.
We planned to meet again sometime
Or talk at any rate,
But the number she gave I failed to save,
As charm’s a poor cousin to fate.

The smoky mist is wide and deep,
The wind’s a child awake from sleep;
A mother bear with baby cubs,
I watch in love through tangled shrubs.
 
Now wandering, I chase the clouds
Up here, away from city crowds,
But still I think of you that day,
Your eyes a lake, the moon at play.

He swims a sea of dark red wine
To drink the hours, soft and sweet,
And wash away the jeweled vine
Alone, beside a narrow street.
 
In spring the birds shall flit about,
As nighttime feasts can last till dawn;
But then he’ll lift his head and shout,
A wolf astray that’s too far gone.

I could've been nothing soul undone,
But I had a calling, a meaning, a function.
I had to get better I believe in significance,
And I'm well aware that genius is a universe, some might say.
It is rumoured that the minute you are satisfied is when you fade away

I stumbled forward,
The door was open,
I slid headfirst into the deepest, darkest ocean.
Suddenly exposed like a firefly in the night,
But feeling the fire within,
I've suddenly worked out there's a storm underneath my skin.