i

come to me
like winged dryads
and lift my prostrate soul
to heights untrodden

adrift with clouds
     of unstarry skies
                         windblown to rainbows
                            without pots of gold

between
the uncheckered intermission
of shade and light
come to me

ii

to elysian fields he roams
gazing at the threshold of beauty
basking at the fountainhead of truth
nutritious viands that feed the soul

empyreal heights                      
laurel wreaths                  
meridian sunshine  
       of nectared sweets
               witchery of words
                     full blaze of glory
                                               poesy's gorgeous kubla khan

then all vanishes
like dreams
like streaks of shooting stars
like enchanted fairyland
. . . he is a poet

Can something really be beautifully  tragic?
Is it possible for a being to be gracefully destructive?
How can a life be insignificantly worthwhile?
Does that mean an existence can be grotesquely appealing?

Could you be more radiantly  pitiful?
You are stunningly heart-rending.
How are you so delicately harrowing?
You are harmlessly treacherous.

Above all else,
Guard your heart
For it is
The wellspring of life
And the most fragile thing
You could ever have.

.

Walk with me, this path does lead us
Curved and twisted thru the fields
Tempting is the destination
And the secrets it may yield

Around the bend an entrance beckons
Long before the skies turn grey
Shrouded by the lost horizon
Wishing us to come and play

Golden grasses form the boundary
Step between the flowing lines
Quickly now the leaves are blowing
Listen as the wind it whines

Nestled in a frame like forest
Set amongst the view we see
Love awaits our storm chased folly
Calling out to you and me

Fade the darkness from your vision
Follow me to where I roam
Needless now to brave the weather
*For we have found our way back home

Sometimes I fear that I'll forget how to hate only because I've forgotten how to love...