it will always hurt
that you'll never see me
like you see her

which, i think, makes no sense
because it is obvious
that
one of us loves you more

*{r.s.}

your face reminds
me of the sun

because
   whenever you smile
the whole room
lights up
    and you gleam
like
the rays of the sun itself

and everyone
is happy
and at peace

*{r.s}

and
                                    as the flowers wilted
so did my love
                          for you
and you were thrown away
                and forgotten about
                                                           until the new you came along

*{r.s.}

Six letters making a sound that means so much.

The pressure of a month's uncertainty released.

The dark spell ended; the nightmare over;
the dawn burning hot with the promise of more life.

The glow had not faded and I thought of those who never heard
the word.  

Those now gone, those who suffer, and those who love them.

I wonder why I am the one who will sleep well tonight
while the only peace they will find is in their final rest.

She came covered in satin-silk hair,
Displayed by rainbowed Ray's;
A visage of God's awe,
And wing's that flew uncaged.
I kneweth her once afore,
In the natural form of grace;
The welkin's own, a soul I've
Known, regalia clase.
O' athwart twas I,
That seized her
Breath, the
Roaring sky's o'er
Happiness. She tucked
Her head, into mine chest;
As the rest played out
As a utopian scene.
Twas not a dream,
Or drug induced
Illusion, some get
Amour confused
With the devil's
Confusion, though we
Art an infusion;
Two antediluvian
Specter shades,
Her color is yellow
For the sun, mine is blue;
From the deepest of water's,
And the river of life
Out of God's throne
I pulled Jane through.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication

i.

As she's in the land of Nod,
rustling azaleas in her
ancestral awe. She don's
the ensemble for the next
morrow.

ii.

Her body like a cradle
Rocks back and forth
As a swaddling babe;
She's musing of ourn
Meeting, and it's
Patient way's.

iii.

Tis I as well who see-
saw's in mine bed,
Pretending she is
Next to me, swaying
the thread's, peeping
out mine window,
Awaiting her wake;
Counting down the
Hour's, to seeith
Mine Angel's
Face.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou dedication)