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Colm Mar 2021
I dream
Of the shadows we would cast
And in moonlight drape ourselves
And make
The flowers we'd align with rain
As we celebrate
The no more of snow
And the frozen pond on which we'd skate
For no less than an eternal day
Like sunlight to hold
Close until we have our own
End of night alight
Sleeping in each others confidence
Without even being awake
And I
Cannot, will not, wait
At least to dream
Of these such things
And in other words make dreams
Of another heighted sky alive
Colm Mar 2021
our nature is not inkwells
our tongues are pens
our will's to live
Colm Mar 2021
No oak ever boasted
Or skyline screamed its might
From such moonlit heights as these
Where the sun cannot warm the cold air of truth
Or the perspective can even hear such small falling words flee

We all grow in the sky of our own
Colm Mar 2021
No heights can test
This smokey breath
Breathe out another jog and let

This heartbeat ache
Which throbs in pace
And patters like the dove and yet

To feel your feet
Guide underneath
Like oceans smooth with opal flow

Its warming breath
And pounding chest
This besting high you runners love
Vivamus ac procursu, Via
Colm Mar 2021
Tall, once grown
A tree needs neither sap nor season
To pine

(for her)
Colm Feb 2021
There is a difference when
  A man writes to write
  When he is looking to be
  Or not

When he is drawn out slowly
  Or even enticed
  By similar thought

The difference wherein
  Be it seen or not
  Is available still in the smiling thee

In the unbiased quiet of wishing
  Of wells

And in the sky of an almost knowing singular hope
  Beneath wings of birds once free indeed
  Once driven from the land of having
  Or wandering into lost passages tall

Therewith burning fiery glowing alone
  You should know
  That he does speak his own tone

And if he gives you these
  Such seas and oceans of well known
  Then be pleased

For it is you who he then loves alone
  Most ardent and true
  In an earthy word song definitively long
  And in the thought of throng, it is you alight

For there is a difference when
  A man writes to write
  And when he doesn't, he is wrong
Colm Feb 2021
EEC
A man can write
For 58 years
( And )

Have his legacy contained
In less than two inches
( It is a crime )
Sad
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