Sometimes I think there is an inner earth,
that spins all widdershins to what we know;
and smoothly from within its spheric berth,
creates enchantments in our world of woe.
I almost hear the distaff and the wheel
and see the golden threads that are there spun;
as if the tapestries of life are real
and magic woven into every one.
The mural of one's life does take its turns;
one section, all bright colours,- next of dark.
The concept of these things within me burns
as I perceive the meaning of the spark.
Our tapestries are dark where we're alone
and brightest where the light of love has shone.

As ever I have been, I am alone.
This solitude is seen by only me.
As if for my great sins I must atone,
and of my burdens, I can not be free.
I stay away from places lovers go.
I write my heart in poems I have penned,
and carefully arrange my thoughts just so;
to show the world I'm strong, but I pretend.
So as I watch the slowly setting sun,
and shiver as the failing embers die,
I know the loneliness has just begun,
that's when I hang my head and start to cry.
No matter how the winds of life have blown;
As ever I have been, I am alone.

When from my dreams I waken in the night,
and there my seeking arms still find you gone;
I panick, as the visions all take flight;
for I forgot, in dreams, I was alone.
With tenderness I think of you, away;
as if by reaching out I'd touch your star.
But I know I could never make you stay
and so I long for you just where you are.
I know you wish you too could be with me,
and when I wake, you then begin to dream.
For half a world away, you'll always be,
and true love cannot be what it would seem.
The sun and moon still dance on to their rhyme,
in your half of the world, and then in mine.

From in the shadows I look back on life,
I dream the past; to when I once have been.
Not as today, where all my world is strife,
but to the days when youth was all serene
How good it was to be alive back then,
to hold a hand or touch another's cheek.
The caverns of my heart were soon a'spin,
and altruistic treasures did I seek.
I spent my patience till it all was gone.
I spent my life till there was nothing left.
The pretty bloom is well and truly done,
I find myself,of peace and hope,bereft.
Of "living to the full", let me now speak;
"To grow old, is not for those who are weak!"

Perhaps I should have never looked your way.
Perhaps I should have never read your note.
For ignorance is bliss, I've heard them say;
But I, excited, sat right down and wrote.
I told you of the dreamy ways that be.
The things that I have thought and then found true.
And as I told you mysteries of me;
you turned them inside out, and there was you!
But long before my hands caressed your face,
and you reached out to me to touch in kind;
already I had met your ways of grace,
and I had loved the beauty of your mind.
Through years, the magic stays in all we do.
My darling, I am still in love with you.

One day I rode upon an Autumn train.
The sky was slate, the wind was cold and blue.
I saw stark trees and brilliant leaves and rain,
and yet I only thought again of you.
I'd come out on this trip to hide myself.
I thought I'd not be found right in plain sight.
Music I had, and earbuds from the shelf,
I soothed myself with them all through the night.
And when the morning came, all cloudy cold;
all still and sad and broken I became.
For in my heart, I'd suddenly grown old
and all I'd left to whisper was your name.
I droppped my hat down low upon my eyes,
and hid in Love's most distressing disguise.

In these dark days the bleak December sun,
rises tired, the more to lie down drear.
By rain, or snow, or chill we are undone
and plod towards the ending of the year.
We hope in the returning of the light;
that soon again there'll be another spring.
Another year is coming into sight;
with dreams and plans and fears that it may bring.
I wish, in every way my joys to share.
I hope for comfort in the times of pain.
In fear, let consolation be found here;
and let love live in all the world again.
To ponder all this, I am yearly cursed;
whenever it's December 31st.

Give me the shearling wool for silky feet;
to ward off chills in this audacious cold.
With eiderdown make all my slumber sweet
and there tucked in, let all my dreams unfold.
On lofty pillows high, let me recline,
to cushion any pain that I might feel
and let a good night's sleep at last be mine,
that I, untroubled, may begin to heal.
Let banshee winds around the casement wail,
as fingers of the trees tap cold and dead,
out on the windows, where the cold prevails.
I will be safely nestled in my bed.
How delicate I must appear to be!
A sister to,  "The Princess and the Pea".

A child has crept inside a secret cave
that lies within a thick hedge on the land.
She'd hidden tears and tried hard to be brave;
now she's escaped the belt, and hardened hand.
Her mind feels addled from her need to run.
Her body jumps each time she hears a shout.
She's frightened she'll be caught out in the sun;
then she'll be dragged back home, without a doubt!
How dared she think she'd slip away and play?
They must have known the moment she was gone...
she'll never leave unseen while it's still day.
How soon the notes fell silent in her song.
She never sang again, her sisters pledge;
she left her spirit safe within the hedge.

their warm arterial embrace was ripped
the day you tore your heart from mine, it died
alone, its beating stopped where once it skipped,
it withered in its solitude and dried,

now pluck this deadened fruit from out its vine,
and crush it into powder fine and white,
from purity of love it is refined,
a remnant of my love unspoiled, zinc bright,

freebase it and inject it in your veins,
or mix with water, drink it as an ale,
or snort it yet don't leave a single grain,
or nebulize it, deeply do inhale,

my essence seeks to once more be a part
in some way with your unforgiving heart

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

eight months we loved and fought with equal rage
upon the net's equator spinning round
we baked our flesh in sun of summer's age
and died on winter's snow filled concrete ground

this, every day a battle to the death
we slaughtered one another to the grave
then making love, restoring life with breath
we'd soar back to the skies embraced and saved

each day has been a lifetime full of life
lived fully in our love den's angry place
ineffable our love in passion's strife
so many resurrections in one space

and now too tired to raise again the sword
we rest with silenced love and not a word

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

two souls enjoined by God become one flesh,
no more are they a husband and a wife,
one body, all its capillaries meshed,
one heart, two lungs, one breath, one beating life,

oh, we are interwoven, every thread,
like lovers' fingers interlocked in time,
as slowly flesh cleaves unto flesh in bed,
we are but one alone, not yours, not mine,

though when from me you tear yourself away,
our tapestry becomes unraveled, cringe!
how is it you are whole still, as you say,
while I remain a curled and tattered fringe?

our love once fragranced every single breath,
now torn, it seems alone I bleed to death

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos

while winter still, today's pure air is Spring's,
as light jackets and shorter shirts attest,
that heart-bud-waking fragrance lingering,
the air in nostrils puffing up the breast,

in all directions couples holding hands,
while strolling through the effervescent park,
where squirrels and playing children understand,
a difference in the air so crisp and stark,

my thoughts, to love turn, running into space,
a missing heart beats silence into mine,
i turn to see a void where in its place,
not long ago our faces were combined,

i walk along the pathways and i stare,
the hand now holding mine is only air

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos