Colour Blind

I don't see the colour of your skin.

I see
the colour of your heart.

Is it dark and putrid or
is it the color of a soft and lilting tune?
Is it filled with warm tones,
or cold?
Hues of ice and snow,
or gold?

Do you give or take?
Do you love or hate?

I don't see race or faith,
I just see you-
your energy, your words, your actions.

I see you; I just simply
see you.

Wing of hovering bird
Just above the steadying ships,
Woman on the pier
Waiting with unchaste lips.

Sailor under moons
Praying like a king of saints,
All taming lust,
Into her arms he wanes.

Untamed horses
Gallop upon the fields,
Prisms of the man
From what woman's touch may yield.

Home from hostile waves
To drink angelic milk,
Touch by his angel
Skin like woven silk.

Upon the ground sturdy
He lays his heavy head,
Follow thy *****
To the woman he is now led.

I let the wind ride me
Sending waves of beauty
Tiny lakes, thin tributaries
And pond like puddles
Destine to dissipate, disappearing
But for now they dance
In their dirt and gravel

How kind any mercy would be
Instead I lived in her shadows
Ever changing moods
More tempestuous then
Any restless sea
And ten times as dangerous
Stupid to the point of cruelty
Ignorance and violence intertwined
Making bad bed fellows
I spent my childhood on the gallows
Begging for the headman’s axe
Or a naked noose to set me loose

A smile hides the month of November
Beautiful eyes of autumnal colors
Words that slip from a honey tasting tongue
Poetical genius
Salted words that split the world between us
The universe a cracked atom, nuclear
In desire I pleaded with broken eyes
To be connected instead of in love together alone
Leaving slightly fulfilled, soul spilled
In awe, devastated
Desiring more than desire

Blood has sown its sickly seed
Sought to plant born to bleed
And in the photos that I see
I observe the devastating crop

I thought you wrote of the heart you broke.
The poems spoke of sorrows familiar,
but not your own.

The verses were benign.
No identity to find,
just plaid sentiments
parsed out pieces
of other people poetry.

Pop sensations,
predictable platitudes,
empty verses
with no sign of your heart,
so many syllables to hide behind,
but what I couldn’t find.

It was you, I was looking for
in those words.

They say it's the quiet ones
that are the real freaks
but i'm pretty normal
for me

and so..

if by freak they mean
living without regret
within the secrets i keep
and loving all
of the rainbow dreams
i dream
and indulging in
the delicious passions
i crave
and never saying sorry
for the weird ***
what's wrong with you?
does your mother know?
kind of life
i fully intend
to live
then yeah..
maybe they've got a point

and so..

by that reckoning..
i must be
the most unapologetic
and quietest freak
you're ever likely to meet

Movement no.1
Andante con moto

Farewell.

I am leaving you
with the sweetness
and the sadness
of every creature on this earth
draped over my shoulders
as a shroud

We rest now
before the final struggle
looking down upon our lives
from a precipice

The wind calls up
a faint sound

a song
of healing
as resignation

So bring forth the dirge
let dogs and oboes
cue the horns
as we embark
upon a tender struggle

We are whipped back
and forth
between grief and glory
in this life

an indifferent life
lush with raw power

But thankfully
at the end of every day
there is sleep.

Movement no. 2
Im tempo eines gemächlichen Ländlers. Etwas täppisch und sehr derb.

Dance returns
and goes mad

Who could lift a leg
that high?  

Not I.

The music careens
off the walls
in a dissonant minuet
of the hours

The clenched teeth
of each and every minute
grind here
as if time itself
took heel
and made a sparkling trace
across the pines
of this exalted floor of dance.

Movement no. 3
Rondo Burleske: allegro assai. Sehr trotzig.

A music major's delight.
Fugues against fugues.
Dense contrapuntal figures
and sarcastic counterpoint
shouting out
from the back of the class.

And then

just love

confused perhaps
but real love indeed.

Movement no. 4
Sehr langsam und noch zurüclhaltend

The violin
noblest of instruments
takes its place

In bitter sorrow
life soon lost
the fruit of the tree
is extinguished
the promise of green days
burned by drought

All is withheld.

There is peace at the end
but no joy
the abyss is only silence

and a taut string
connecting us
to eternity.