I dreamt again last night
This time, it seemed to me like you and i
were walking along older roads
Where the grass grew high and
the air smelled of warm roses
it was sunset and itself
shimmered then as would dusty gold
your slender frame upon coming night
off your soft skin bounced playful light
your hands in mine
fingers locking in snugly
my fists surely a good size larger
yet we've always matched nicely
stroking your hair, catching glints in your eyes
rogue strands tucked aside and found they revealed
dark, hazel seas of intense appeal
Now, I've seen you before - but it mattered not then
my arms finding path up the spine to your neck
I found that we were one
beneathe the moon and her light
Thus, give me sight that I might see
How hopelessly lost I am
in your eyes
In fields like these
I again find that I'm free
careless and young
with you I believe
till your fingers find mine
and in embrace do we meet
stay safe in my heart
or find place in my dreams
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Winter in August - (11.08.09)
I love you
but my place is not here
with you amidst the sweet August wheat
beside you in the lightest of the dreams
unconditionally too, in all sense of the word
for the world's left you wholly untainted
pure as wintery white dew
warming to souls freezing stark
pleasant like freshly-ironed fabric creases
betwixt us two a silence stills
tongue withheld for fear of loss
loss you question? of deified worth
i'd soon lose myself in your pursuit
forgoing all in name of temporal satiety
surely here I have been before
henceforth love shall cease as
hiding flowers are bound in day
watch as thorns arise
where my heart m'not stay
till night where they open once more again
in birth, bloom of glorious hue
first be sufficed to for now know
so has this one loved you.
but my place is not here
with you amidst the sweet August wheat
beside you in the lightest of the dreams
unconditionally too, in all sense of the word
for the world's left you wholly untainted
pure as wintery white dew
warming to souls freezing stark
pleasant like freshly-ironed fabric creases
betwixt us two a silence stills
tongue withheld for fear of loss
loss you question? of deified worth
i'd soon lose myself in your pursuit
forgoing all in name of temporal satiety
surely here I have been before
henceforth love shall cease as
hiding flowers are bound in day
watch as thorns arise
where my heart m'not stay
till night where they open once more again
in birth, bloom of glorious hue
first be sufficed to for now know
so has this one loved you.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Potentiality - (10.08.09)
it appears that with each step towards
the obsessions I hold, the same feet
set distance between us
driving the divide
canning thoughts which transpired
of bridging potentiality
I'll keep up my fences
none may pass where it be guarded
Then, my hands would engulf yours
rough calluses walking
against your softer grains
untempered and natural
Now, it appears I am to blame
for the wedges betwixt us
paces further, you toward
I may not walk your plains again
the obsessions I hold, the same feet
set distance between us
driving the divide
canning thoughts which transpired
of bridging potentiality
I'll keep up my fences
none may pass where it be guarded
Then, my hands would engulf yours
rough calluses walking
against your softer grains
untempered and natural
Now, it appears I am to blame
for the wedges betwixt us
paces further, you toward
I may not walk your plains again
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Mynahs
It's turning dark, and the marketplace is eerily quiet.
A shop is still open, with one last good left displayed, unsold - Lying by the kerosene lamp that stands solemnly beside it.
This last 'good' lay motionless within its cage. Lame from birth, it was doomed to sheer nothingness in its existence and was starkly pathetic.
The small, crippled mynah shivered and chirped softly in the cold, eastern wind.
An old man walked towards the shop, just as the shopkeeper was bemoaning his invalid good.
'Toss it out I shall, into the cold and dark - There I shall be rid of it!'
The old man entered the shop, despite the 'Closed' sign.
The pet shop he found himself in, was a dirty and rundown place.
The harsh winds crept in through the cracks in the wall, displacing his hair and ruffling the thin feathers of the mynah.
'Sir, we are closed,' said the gnarly shopkeeper.
He was entirely unpleased at this old man's entrance.
'That bird in the cage.'
He walks to it.
'How much?'
'Well Sir, you can't possibly want this invalid creature. Good for nothing, it is - You best leave it to me to dispose of it.'
The old man rubbed his stubby chin, and remained silent.
'You see, the thing could never fly. All it does is seemingly whine with its incessant chirping in the daytime, eat in general compliance to what I feed it - And lie there, lame and pathetic. Nothing about it is special, nor will I ever find a selling point in this stupid bird. I don't even know why I let it live. I shall soon let it starve, the useless thing,' ranted the shopkeeper. His surly build and mean tone were indicators of his harsh character.
The old man folded his arms and let out a faint sigh.
'I'll take it,' he said at length.
'And I'll pay you for it.'
At this, the old man's greying eyes begin to glisten with the forming of a small tear... Few could ever notice it.
He took out all he had from the creased and aged wallet from his pocket, and put it on the counter. The shopkeeper counted 7 ten-dollar bills, much to his disbelief and laughed to himself at the old man's costly folly.
Taking the cage firmly under his arm, the old man walked out of the door.
It began to pour, and the night was chilly.
But the lame mynah, finding solace in its new master, would now sing a greater song than it once did.
Now, with the old man's loving sacrifice... Perhaps it would begin to fly again -
Albeit, in its own different way.
A shop is still open, with one last good left displayed, unsold - Lying by the kerosene lamp that stands solemnly beside it.
This last 'good' lay motionless within its cage. Lame from birth, it was doomed to sheer nothingness in its existence and was starkly pathetic.
The small, crippled mynah shivered and chirped softly in the cold, eastern wind.
An old man walked towards the shop, just as the shopkeeper was bemoaning his invalid good.
'Toss it out I shall, into the cold and dark - There I shall be rid of it!'
The old man entered the shop, despite the 'Closed' sign.
The pet shop he found himself in, was a dirty and rundown place.
The harsh winds crept in through the cracks in the wall, displacing his hair and ruffling the thin feathers of the mynah.
'Sir, we are closed,' said the gnarly shopkeeper.
He was entirely unpleased at this old man's entrance.
'That bird in the cage.'
He walks to it.
'How much?'
'Well Sir, you can't possibly want this invalid creature. Good for nothing, it is - You best leave it to me to dispose of it.'
The old man rubbed his stubby chin, and remained silent.
'You see, the thing could never fly. All it does is seemingly whine with its incessant chirping in the daytime, eat in general compliance to what I feed it - And lie there, lame and pathetic. Nothing about it is special, nor will I ever find a selling point in this stupid bird. I don't even know why I let it live. I shall soon let it starve, the useless thing,' ranted the shopkeeper. His surly build and mean tone were indicators of his harsh character.
The old man folded his arms and let out a faint sigh.
'I'll take it,' he said at length.
'And I'll pay you for it.'
At this, the old man's greying eyes begin to glisten with the forming of a small tear... Few could ever notice it.
He took out all he had from the creased and aged wallet from his pocket, and put it on the counter. The shopkeeper counted 7 ten-dollar bills, much to his disbelief and laughed to himself at the old man's costly folly.
Taking the cage firmly under his arm, the old man walked out of the door.
It began to pour, and the night was chilly.
But the lame mynah, finding solace in its new master, would now sing a greater song than it once did.
Now, with the old man's loving sacrifice... Perhaps it would begin to fly again -
Albeit, in its own different way.
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