All potency for pain and pleasure binds,
Confined to freely ebb from causal shell;
Then, urged by current convalescing mind
My heart parts way with what decaying, fell.
What if the sapling's ardor fails to flower,
So choked from light by canopy of old?
From bitter yield, I've winnowed only sorrow;
Love's fruitless growth has left it bare and cold.
Quickening, each pattern passed holds lessen -
With way now cleared, I remain resolute:
Dreaming of trunk's branches' fruitful blossom,
I make the means for chance to sweetly root.
Though Nature bounding, I still wonder why
Life, bourne by grief, seems made to die.
If you cast truly, king fisher of men,
Show care with connection, rare, meaningful song;
Withered by loss, I cannot comprehend
Why seed should be made to stay only so long.
Feeling for reason, flowing stone divides,
Severing seasons of constant refrain.
Though I deem sep'rate the day from the night,
Singular cycles are all that remain.
O, to make matter, to spirit up beach,
Drawn by some beauty, so vibrantly graved!
Roaring, I'd grasp what's been kept beyond reach,
Breathing new life into what should be saved;
But presence of peace neither soothes nor forestalls
When what order brings must be destined to fall.
This problem is all too familiar,
my ignition unstarted and still.
Can you find it and fuel it and startle
foreign gears and uncharted wheels?
Will you put life in this husk?
Will you come as the jilt of a lover,
or perhaps her sincerest embrace?
some extrinsic and chemical other,
catalyzing more confident state?
Will you find life in this husk?
I wonder how those with no questions
seem to draw from somewhere so much fruit.
My answer waits for me to liken
my own source to the fawn's and the root's.
Will I see life in this husk?
The room is empty, save the leaves of what was weakly grown
Parting way with pain and grief, new hope is hardly sown
Lonely sapling greets the light and cautiously unfolds
but is eclipsed from welling eyes by with'ring leaves of old
Fear has made the sapling pine for comfort's calm embrace
But oh, how better petals shine when love has set their pace
and as its blossom only stems from stock already grown
the sapling hopes to love again but grows as well alone
One man among many, of this I’m most sure:
on chorus’ carriage she reigns.
But settling with rest, all chaste and demure,
writhing with thirst as we're dangled the cure,
has only led me to more pain.
To rise up the race to a canter,
or let each drown her with cracked song
that shouts loudest deserves her answer?
With men, I’m not much of a dancer -
I won’t whisper sweetly for long.