Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other’s moods
And how they change;

But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free —
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?

When all works that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread;

When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love.

I cannot rest, I cannot rest
  In straight and shiny wood,
My woven hands upon my breast--
  The dead are all so good!

The earth is cool across their eyes;
  They lie there quietly.
But I am neither old nor wise;
  They do not welcome me.

Where never I walked alone before,
  I wander in the weeds;
And people scream and bar the door,
  And rattle at their beads.

We cannot rest, we never rest
  Within a narrow bed
Who still must love the living best--
  Who hate the pompous dead!

Trauma, tradegy, beauty, or despair
Hidden within our world
That we color so frequently
With words
Something changed us
Within our youth or wisdom
That we needed to explain
With words
But not words that flow
In full thought
Just words that are
Full thought
Skipping prepositions, nouns, sometimes verbs
You get the idea
At least that's my idea
Of the Poet's Common Thread

© October 12, 2009 Deanna Repose
Reposted from www.blog.deannarepose.com

Loneliness everywhere I turn.
Watching my soul burn.
Enveloping my existence.
Insanity drowning my resistance.
Crying on the floor.
Reaching for the door.
Screaming from the pain inside.
Losing the awful fight.
No one tries to find me
Though it's too late; just let me be.
Beautiful tragedy in the making.
My tortured body forsaking.
Too busy with the evil in the room
While I lay in my tomb.