| Poetry |
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| "Wingless Beauty" She unfolded her wings like a swallow once, Lifting up into daunting blue, And as I beheld her I began to laugh And in laughing wept For she was my beauty in the sky But while she flew, I stepped. "Playing the Part" I play the part of jilted lover But do I play it well? Or can you see within this heart true sorrow's shadow dwell? It makes me wonder, that glance she throws my way, wave with hand so dear and small, for lack of words to say. Yet with that glance and wave, no tears have come to call, you said you always knew the truth, my heart never beat at all. "Sinister Shade" Ignore whispers and murmurs which stalk me back and forth, My walk undaunted till I feel a shiver Unlike all the rest. Turning, I seek the source, Wherein a sinister shade stirs; A darkness hiding in the dark, Till shadow lifts and I can see It is her, though I knew it'd be. I turn again but she hurls a glance That strikes me from behind, A palpable hit, that horrid glance, An eternity's length from kind. "Impression" I lost myself within familiar woods today down that silent earth path where at its end snow lay. A single step on the snow made my footprint shown to remind me of a path and life I had known. "Two as One" Passion, Prison, two the same, Consider them as one; It's no surprise hearing Lovers' cries Behind bars when all is done. "Fallen" I can almost see the end, something just around the bend, Yet I stall, with so many wounds left to mend. On a black wind soars the faint cry of lovers' woe to carry me back to what I know. So is it so curious that I wander behind and forsake what else there is to find? Falling back down to this earthly post, Along the fallen journey of a fallen ghost. While the fates cackle at the sight, such a pair are we, Your face solid beneath my touch, and me, a memory. "Flight of Passion" Passion, where is it you find your start, in winding head or blinding heart? Those who watched lovers part claim your start is in the heart. Others who lived their days unwed said you tread within the head. Yet I think that perhaps instead, It's in the eyes- There it lies, and where it dies. |