Gentle soul, come lay down next to me,
Unload your daily sorrows and tears,
Reveal your  inner hopes and dreams,
And I will love you so, now and forever.

Let down your golden hair of brown,
Let it fall helplessly down towards the bed,
Remove your clothes and let them aimlessly fall,
Begin the dance of love tonight for me, please.

Kind spirit, taste the wine in darkness come,
Hold heart to heart, let breathing be our guide,
Reshape our bodies into one, the only one,
While I dry all your tears and fears this night.

If love be designed in times of trouble, be it,
For all your sweetness is a part of me, as well,
The heavy breaths, the panting sighs, oh,
Let me like a heavenly angel find you peace.

Gentle soul, I give you all I have to give,
In hopes the morning brings you happiness,
In truth, I know it may be momentary pleasure,
But I will be your constant lover and friend.

And, so, you leave me here, standing,
Solitary, little boy, with his pants down,
Though man of man still wanting, you,
I watch you slowly slip away and cry,
Into the dark and lonely throughfare,
But I stand silly, shocked and empty,
Because my love has gone away.

If I had painted a grand world for you,
Perhaps, this and that would  still be true,
While golden hair, now gray and flowing on,
Would melt a heart of stone and rock and worry,
But I still long and love with all my being standing so,
Wanting all familiar times anew, then know not real,
Yet, as you walk so casually forth, I know it is now,
Here comes the searing stab of all  my lonliness.

I step  forth as though a man possessed, deleted,
Holding  onto walls, posts, and anything made solidly,
And wander, wander, wander like a fool betrayed,
Until I can no longer see you walking slowly , steal away,
Raising my hand and muttering to myself insane,
"Goodbye, Adelia,  my love, goodbye.

Dead, the crows pick at my soul,
Darkened clouds are flying above,
Stench of death surrounding me,
But, still, I fight to come alive.

Hunted, haunted, I made my path,
But the hunters tracked me down,
So, their arrows had pierced my heart,
Now I lay on bleached, hot sand.

Thoughts of how my body dies,
Clinching to the hope or dream,
Of coming back to life in force,
To hunt the hunters who are alive.

Hear the crows and buzzards fly above,
Wanting flesh to devour my soul,
But, as long as a thread in me still lives,
Am I truly still laying dead?

Once more angels and devils resume,
To fight for my cold-hearted body,
But my spirit still lives on I know,
Because my mind still longs to live.

From magical birth we're on our path to die,
But this is not a worrisome thing, don't cry,
Just take the moments as they fall like rain,
And drink up all the pleasure and the pain.

Once born we feel that life will be so long,
We happily take life's measure, sing our song,
But never think that time will soon disappear,
So like a school child venture forth, no fear.

We watch our loved ones come and quietly go,
Too young to understand where they have gone,
Our parents tell us it's a natural thing to die and so,
Our hearts still break but quickly heal and bond.

Then nature comes with seasons diverse, it's clear,
The natural order of things burst forth we've heard,
That in our own free world and segmented hemisphere,
There are things we love and hate and sometimes fear.

Then being young to college off we go with hope,
To educate ourselves and learn the ways of love,
But in the scheme of how to grab life's slippery rope,
We bow our knees and upward look for peace above.

Discovering love we fly on wings so short,  gossamer,
To believe no others find the love we now have found,
This union comes as such a surprise and is a blurr,
When twenty years go by without  a mournful sound.

The children come, the dogs, the cats and coupled friends,
Become entrenched in our lives with no signs, or sudden ends,
We become our fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles, and trends,
Define who we are now and the journey's rough and life's road bends.

And  now the people gather in their dark clothes with less to say,
A family man has left us on this day, the people will truly talk,
They'll single file walk past to gaze and look sad in their own way,
But this is what we do on feets of clay the endless, solitary walk.

If the time would come when we weren't lonely,
Nothing in this world would stand in our way,
Gentle thoughts of you when you were  loving,
Brought us to this union  where we played.

When we walked together it was still magic,
Holding hands like one another would get away,
Smiling and content was who we were being,
Sharing dreams and memories everyday.

Why can't people in love live on forever?
Who determines how long together we stay?
Maybe if we hope and ask for this time now,
We will live to love just one more day.

Sweet is the way when you are so loving,
This is what we all pray someday to be,
When the love that you share is everylasting,
Blessings fall like gentle drops of rain.

Then in your arms my heart is so pounding,
Touching slow your hair and  skin on this day,
Kissing soft your lips now is so amazing,
This is all to wish for in this way.

Why can't people in love live on forever?
Who determines how long together we stay?
Maybe if we hope and ask for this time now,
We will live to love just one more day.

Evening falls like an old friend,
And all the dead poets have arrived,
It is a gathering of all their spirits,
For another try at stirring the muses.

We see Keats, and Shelley, and Sandberg,
As they slowly materialize before our eyes,
Then Woodsworth and Dylan Thomas,
Both simultaneously step into the light.

Shakespeare wants to come, too,
But his turn of a phrase won't do,
Because we want Dickerson and Frost,
And the bard must wait until his time has come.

The bonfire is roaring, the starry, starry skies,
A cool evening breeze steps lightly across our faces,
Then Shelley begins to step forward and write in the air,
Such phrases and sketches once again a delight to read.

And, I, a poet want to beam in a trance of worldly proportion,
I can not speak, or utter even the barest of grunts or utterances,
Then Shakespeare, never to be outdone, begins a love-sick sonnet,
While the crowd of hosts take notice and smile out loud.

This gathering of dead poets seems like a dream of dreams,
As they stand proudly upon the dampened ground of forest leaves,
And Walt Whitman wants to recite from "Leaves of Grass" once more,
While I, a student at the beginning of life, take copious notes galore.

I took a drink of cool, clean water,
That came from within a wishing well,
It tasted sweet and filled me deeper,
With precious life that came to me.

I wanted more, of this cool beverage,
So, took another drink, then took two,
It filled my body with such  robust flavor,
That on my journey I could now venture on.

When coming upon a run-down farmhouse,
Where wind blew whispfully in swaying trees,
I picked a pear from the nearest pear tree,
And held the fruit in hand so gracefully.

The pear was sweet, the juice ran rapidly,
Down on my chin, onto my denim shirt,
I felt the grit, the fruit soon was  tastefully,
Set fire to my tastebuds so endlessly.

I glanced upon the cornfields so lonely,
Standing tall and giant they reached for sky,
The greeness filled my mind with fancy,
Then, so I wandered to fields to further see.

Within the field, a lovely, young beauty,
Was pulling corn from the green, green stalks,
Her smile, a greeting, to me weary wanderer,
I took her hand and handled it so tenderly.

She said she spent her days in the cornfields,
I sensed she wanted to switch places with me,
To wander aimlessly, through nearby counties,
In search of self so then so senselessly.

But me, a mortal, mere man of mans' time,
Would what give readily to find all the day,
To stand silently within cornfields, green I see,
To shuck corn from the cornfields so handily.