Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers

I would wait
Through so many sunsets
And dawns
That time would lose meaning.
I would wait
Until my hair turned grey
And my bones grew tired.
I would wait
While others hurry
Losing sight of what's ahead.
I would wait
Through summer sun
And winter snows.
I would wait for you.
Always.

i.

Without her I
Am naught;
With her
I am all.

ii.

Without her I
Am lost;
With her
I am found.

iii.

Without her I
Am in mine grave;
With her, I am free
Not a slave.

iv.

Without her I
Am in peril;
With her
I canst seeith, speaketh, breatheth, liveth on her holy water.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

Shake out your shining tresses, Love
Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise
And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon,
Like roses in a whiskey glass.
Take time to dream a dream, my Love,
Tresses fallen across the curve of your face --
Sleep away the late summer moon,
Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace.

Lay down your weary bones, my dear,
Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams 
My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night
Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams
Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber
As  silken tendrils puddle upon your chest
Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs
Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest

you may not know me
face to face,
but you and I have connected
heart to heart through words.

Our lives are woven together by
the tapestry of words,
and into a living breathing poetry.

you and I are no longer strangers,
but fellow poets and sojourners
on this journey of creation.

She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

She's a skeptic for crystal bones
doesn't believe in God's treasured
          zodiac prophecies.
                         Be jealous
of the wolves we still call sheep.
You were my lover;
now the moon shines
                in utmost sympathy for
all those frigid nights stars bit at
your ears for the choices you've
                     made in cold song.
Stop drumming your heart to
the sound of my sky
             Lupus told me to tell you
                   it doesn't belong a
                         vagabond such
                               as yourself.
If you can't cut off my tongue,
then who are you to silence
                    me?
The moon is flashing like the bullets
                I've been catching between
                 my teeth.
Like all of the night's phases and heartbreak;
The phases of love will wax
                      and wane.
.