For she is still

So the whispers of the grass

And the secrets of the tree

Can shout to her hungry soul.

Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Sometimes I feel that we should wait.
                            Just a second, hesitate.
                            One more moment, contemplate,
                            The inevitable that is destined to us.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            I wish I hadn't, Pain, invite
                            Freely in a fiery thought
                            A life anew, a love, ignite
                            In that first new friend I sought.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Before we plead and seal our fate,
                            Let memory briefly resonate.
                            On others, lost at last, too late.
                            To deter our hearts from another's future.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                          But then, I think no new regret
                          Could wish your existence never in mine.
                          For though there is pain, newly beset,
                          I cherish the happiness since whence we met.
Rest in peace forever, my darling.

When Poe leaves Kingdom and hails the sea
And absence wins to ecstasy
Seraphs dwindle in their clouds
Never minding Annabelle Lee.

When Cummings follows floating bells
And someones and everyones reap their tells,
spring winter autumn summer
the snow of children swells and swells.

When Rosetti ventures in the day,
and golden hair shows not one grey.
Sisters wander, sisters stray
And can't keep Goblin fruit away.

When Frost forgets to watch the trail
And takes the worn path most preferred.
Keeps walking til his footsteps fail
The leaves are trodden, black, stale,
The road not taken, undisturbed.

When I wonder what poets say
When they turn their truths away
And venture into the unknown,
Do they leave well enough, alone?

They call a deep orange-red moon “******,”
That, somehow, she can hurt and wound like I…
How absurd! A rock can’t show tears or glee
Yet she is as joyous as stars are nigh.

Goddess Moon kissed Mother Earth in passion,
Fire consum’ng their love so time would not.
Time is a hunter they could not outrun,
As he ripped them apart, doomed them to rot.

One grew lush and strong, the other ice cold;
One circled the other in longing stares,
The other raising man in open wolds;
Memories in scars -- what a tragic pair.

Bleed, Moon, bleed as I do cry for lost love,
Alone and cold with the stars high above.

I've never been good with spoken words and maybe this is why
because everything just seems to spill out in rambles and tangents
like trying to follow a scribble cloud as if its a map to buried treasure  
locked deep inside with the secrets and I could never quite tell you,      
not straightforward anyway, how I felt when you sat in front of me,         
but that's not an excuse, and maybe I shouldn't tell you that when I           
see you I feel like I'm being drawn and quartered with every emotion        
pulling selfishly at me but maybe that's just me and perhaps I'm over          
exaggerating the momentum in which my heart holds my head but I         
can't say for sure because all I can hear is a constant drumming…         
constant drumming... constant drumming… and it never stops           
even as the sun sets and you, so far away, somehow crawl into my    
head as if its a warm hearth in the middle of a blizzard, but I am the
exact opposite and if my words don't convince you than perhaps a    
cold shoulder will burn the idea into the soft skin of the arms that used    
to hold me when I cried about those stupid little things that I laugh at      
now and you'd laugh with me, oh that laugh, would fill me with a heat   
that could challenge all the stars in the universe and yet it flickered so      
quickly like a single flame suddenly at the will of a breath that has            
become so shallow and shaken by the tears of something deep inside      
shattering at such an immense speed that everything else is slow motion   
in comparison, and maybe my head is right to think that you're no good   
for me, but don't think for a moment that I could possibly keep you out  
of the mind that has become so crowded and yet you sit in the center of
it all like a king, or perhaps a dictator, that knows he belongs there in
that crowded space just under my ribs echoing with that beat, that constant
drumming that runs through my body like a relentless river as it destroys          
everything in its wake and runs along a silent stream of thoughts and words           
that pour out of my mouth when I open it…                                                              ­

and that is why I am no good with spoken words.

Of all the lost souls I have come to know,
You are the bravest, strongest, most divine.
These misplaced foot steps set the world aglow,
With each touch of your hand, new stars align.
I assumed your wondering made you lost --
How foolish of me, but now I can see
You are more than stone: bright granite embossed
With love’s red roses, not sickly ivy.
Envy is my desire for your hands
And how they can shape such beautiful thoughts.
You are like a creation of Dream’s lands,
Lulled spirit tattooed with scattered inkblots.
     Wandering but not lost, found but still searching
     To bring color back to Earth’s eve of spring.

The small grassland hills are dancing.
The sky is blue and the breeze is long,
I reach out, I touch and I look—
Into your eyes, my fingers in your hair.

No angels marr my shoulder space
No horns nor wings to find
But yet there are two sides of me
That unkindly cohabit my mind.

Fighting, fighting, constant quarrel,
Both wrestling for command.
No time to take a quick breath in
For loss of reprimand.

A girl and a philosopher,
Not opposites, you see.
I'm in no condition for juxtaposition
Lest subjected to therapy.

The girl is cruel, with a capricious streak,
Unyielding, growling, beast.
Philosopher questions her every say,
Persistant in the least.

Quiet
...resolve
The voices are the tiniest hum-
-clashing as only voices can...
They all lift;
And.
Are.
No.
More.