When the night is darkest,
When the Moon is brightest,
When the stars are clearest,
When the song is saddest,
When the music's purest,
When the voice is sweetest,
When the air is coldest,
When the sunlight warmest,
When the breeze is fairest,
Then, I remember;
The beauty of your smile,
Your light and perfect laughter,
Just one look from graceful eyes;
But I think about you always.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
How many times have you been dragged?
How many dark secrets bear your blood and tears?
How do I make known such terrible sorrow?
How do you cover all these filthy stains?
How do I yet breathe when so jaded by my past?
How do I yet fall though the price I know?
How; when a friend's life its heavy toll?
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
October Mountains rising
out of the peaceful morning mists.
Like Dragons long in slumber, waking.
As their sides breathe with fiery life
they reach toward the steely clouds
to touch the sky.
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 11:30 AM UTC
Twilight whispers
Dreaming fingertips
In the candle's soft glow
Sweet air, melody and harmony
Painting voices in your eyes.
Shadow dancing
With the perfect reflection,
My clear vision
You shimmer;
Fading back to blind.
Too many quiet times
Between cacophonies of silence
The hysteria of nothing
What to do
Unmentioned glances.
Gallantly standing against
Agony to be waiting
Wings of desires,
What could be
Only an apparition's dream.
What, so...
Black and white
Quietly in and out of
Softly focus...
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
Ten thousand faces
In the light of day
Tell them when
To laugh or cry.
Only meeting under
The watchful star's
Shimmering glow.
A single teardrop falls.
A phantom kiss is given
By the autumn breeze.
Their precious time alone,
Welcoming the moon
That gives their romance life.
At the foot of stone lovers in the park.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
Go too far and bite the stars,
Just walking with that girl.
Listen closely to her heart beat;
It's like a dear friend dreaming
Of things held deep, ripping at the seam.
Memories of what could be.
Take her hand and gently guide her
Through the mire and darkness of trees.
Warm her with that inner blaze
Of your affection; controlled but never quenched.
And when the winter comes, remember:
Forever after is the Spring.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 2:36 PM UTC
Under a Celtic Moon Night
Warm breeze blowing in the spring
Two great armies cease their fight
In grassy fields, insects sing.
I walked alone with my thoughts
Looked for peace and solitude
Dreaming of love that was not;
So I calmed my warriors mood.
A sound: Enchanted music
Drifted soft, calling my soul
Older than any Gaelic,
Those words took such a heavy toll.
From the wood something appeared
Like a ghost from ages past
Though tried in battle, I feared
My weapons from me I cast.
A girl clad in moon's soft glow
With grace, like Beren's fair bride
Beauty only elves could know
Tears, like pure silver she cried.
Like two stars her eyes did shine
Hair, as black as the night sky,
I could only wish her mine.
Deep sadness was in her sigh.
She stood pleading with heaven
To rejoin her with her love;
A soldier he once had been,
Met his fate, was now above.
This perfect scene did I watch,
When like a dream was she gone.
Left, just stillness with no match
And that night went ever on.
Now oft' when the night is long
And darkest before light,
Still can I hear her sad song
Under a Celtic Moon Night.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
Lovers and madmen alike;
marionettes screaming loud
with deafening fury.
The puppet-master
standing alone, trembles
like a child.
Fearing the nightly terror,
the strings he once tugged,
now choking him tightly.
Painted smiles and eyes
somehow twisted murderously;
grins and hateful stares.
All around, the haunting tones
familiar merry-go-round music,
shrieking in his ears.
Evil wooden hands,
clowns reach out, tearing
and laughing wickedly.
My brain begs to awaken
but my heart can't go on beating
in this bad dream.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
The words flow like my life blood.
They're warm sometimes;
with the chill of cold emotion,
Unfeeling to the utmost tenderness.
If spoken; sounding far too rough
for all that they describe.
If sung; the music seems inadequate
to the grace meant at their heart.
Pure and raw, scratched on some scrap.
In all, attempts to tell of the magnificence
of love; the affect of which I do not even know.
Reaching my hand, too clumsy to apply the pain
and beauty felt;
they stumble
and stop.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC