Loving in axiom, and eager in Poetry heart to show, that she may reap some comfort of my pain: joy may animate her to read, which may allow her know, understanding may charity win, and charity beauty obtain, I sought right words to draw the darkest sight of woe, surveying devices fine, her thoughts to entertain: often tossing others' wits to check if then it's flow some new and healthy rains would come upon my desert brain. But words sprung stooping forth, needing devices stay, Device, a poet's young, escaped Knowledge's blows, and strangers feet seemed obstacles in my way. Thus great with kin to speak, and defenseless in my throes, gnawing my fugitive pen, chastising myself for spite, Twit, said my inspiration to me, peer into thine soul and write!

The instinct to nurture a desire with anticipation,
cultivating it with a natural tendency towards care and affection,
proves that a distinct need for happiness exists, but might also provide injury.

Be that as it may, I bid you to stay true to your expectations if you fail,
and not be a prisoner to a dead-end destiny.

Summon the strength of inimitable motivation, and Success may itself avail, at least that is the indication of history.

In the deepest recesses of surreal imaginings,
Issireen awaits to appear in lucid dream
--with a headdress made of a jade of
ivory green upon her spirituous head
of purposeful crystalline.

The only gateway to attain the pure excesses
of her beam, and all that she possesses
is the gleaming illumined stream.

To float on by the mysterious ringing spheres
one by one, finding balance in your curious thinking years,
will gently make ripples where there once were none,
and in the hereafter they make still or remove your weighty tears.

The sole visionary can stir a pool of serenity into chaotic
energies --asymmetries of colors, forms and densities;
which reveal aerie little faces which are reflections of dull
or intense entities. But if you try to seize the intangible wakes
caused by the faerie fins that race --like wings in the wind
of other realities-they will glide thru your fingers like solacing
rain, casually and without pain.

Motion begets motion here, with a sweet gentle touch, as the
oceans of thought first do retreat before the inevitable rush.
Upon your arrival, Issireen can then emerge materialized full
into ethereal space with her hind wings draped over her uniquely
featured legs --outspread across the landscape.

She will be drawn beyond compare. When her immortal image
begins to take shape, a dreamer could naught but feel, but stare. Her eyes will seem to reveal raging complex colors, within
the borders of the iris is the reel of the engaging onyx shutters --into which you will then be the one drawn, drawn into those inescapable eyes. Drawn into the back of beyond -where tranquility lies unsurpassed in it's attribute.

Hear all the sounds that were never mute, see the banners outstretched
but never torn -instruments playing, stars that shoot, and lights that are forever on.

This is the springtime of my loving,
the second season I am to know.
You are the sunlight in my growing,
so little warmth I knew before.
It isn't hard to feel me glowing,
I watched the fire that grew so low.

It is the summer of my smiles
-flee from me Keepers of the Gloom.
Speak to me only with your eyes,
it is to you I give this tune.
It isn't hard to recognize,
these things are clear to all from
time to time.


Talk     Talk


I felt the coldness of my winter,
I never thought it would ever go.
I cursed the gloom that set upon us,
but I know that I love you so.


These are the seasons of my emotions
and like the winds they rise and fall.
This is the wonder of devotion,
I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient,
upon us all a little rain must fall.

The starlit evening nods very sleepily above thee,
So trace the daring, farther,
Tho smoother path across the dale.

Now that you are here, My Lovely,
Just let the indistinct hilltop winds
Speak softly in thy ear,
Like a caring father who dares
To laugh when you are near.

And ye be carefree, hale, and in motion here,
In place beneath a bright cloud veil.
However if your travels become a travail,
Or desperate frustration does upon you sneak,
Let it be, (but never let it prevail.)

And when this frustration ebbs to a temperate sensation,
See that your thoughts-not your woes-
Have a sanctuary for all ideally worthy modes of restoration.

After all, surely you will receive an image or expression
To be stored as a reward for your unfurled and true Merit.

But since it does seem to me that need must be,
I ask this important question,
And hope that you will finally grin and bear it,

"If next to all of God's gifts inherent misery should
Still be considered your inheritance,
How will you bequeath to all, not the burden,
But rather the unfettered joy, pure in the fairest sense
And sometimes in abundant supply,
And therefore be the world's to inherit
-Thus how can you this deny?"

Vibrations about the flitting wings
of a sparrow stir the knitting winds
that intimate the strain he sings
in delicate untainted rings.

The sound of placatory waves
splash upon the walls of caves,
echoing with a pulse and pace
that causes my heart to race.


My figure taut in fixed animation,
essence rapt by an incantation,
nothing expresses the veneration
I've always had for her creation.

I have been eager in my pursuit of devotion,
perhaps too eager, and the notion is beginning
to tell on me. This cause, this wanton desire,
needs, motion, dedication, and loyalty.

No meager affections are of high station,
but mine are more than that -more than
an unbridled urge: but I must hearken
her attention first.

For though my life's tide is not yet to
it's end, it is of finite duration. Is Fate
discouraged?
No!
The swells have surged independently
of the wind; and this fate is neigh longer
destined.

Oh, in pains is my heart forsaken!
   as chastened use has chased away
what Love's abundance canst provide;
      and whichever path she may have upon
advanced or taken, I must hastened choose
                     to search this whole world imagined,
both far and wide.

Ah, how an eminence does make the maiden
youth where ev'ry other breath in innocence sets her
chest to fall, to rise; and now I speak just to thee in truth,
in case thou hasn't heard me hence, or believed me true.

Do cease the actions of mischievous type, as roguery isn't
worth the childish enterprise: rather to me extend thy hand, impassioned, as I to my goddess rise!

Allow me to enter, kiss thee upon that
hand as then, then when I would always
askance grin -ere I'm reduced to inanition
in your absence on this night, such as I have
often chanced to be when first astray in the
variable contrast of ineffectual obscurity.

In my thoughts a resident thou art, my fantasy
perceived as a great charmer, a beauty to beseech
-one whose constant sufferers are the broken heart,
it's action ceased within those past suitors which have
only been half-tutored in that ancient art, which to you
I did teach: but the unbelievers naked eye wilt see nothing
of your radiant form, which I defend, set truly apart!

Yet ye thru usury harm this poor man, as you hurriedly
dart out after I come in; in and out of my reality, on this
you are bent, one that the real world called strangely
marked, a world forlorn that fears that which it doesn't
understand, (or envies.)

Do you, mine maiden, not see things as they were; or in
your leave of absence comprehend that the complex of
elements that reasons hath made thee-as God did make
the universe in an ambiguous flight of fancy-where thru
convictions solely are such dimensions and reflections given
worth?

You are all that torments my fiery soul cruelly, so cruelly,
again and again,
as you do as e'er alter my Heaven, and make falser my Earth!

We all slowly vanish from that hour of life when we are young,
a time thereupon
when we might feel immune to what has not yet become.
Those days when we never see Death as our lives among,
thinking our own mortality to be quite under our thumb
-just because we would bemoan
our contrite song if left unsung;
and when it's no longer thinkable that our maturity has downright come
-with the sum of our years being shy of fourteen and one-
then you would have a right man become,
my firstborn and least eremite-like son.

The eternal source of brilliancy is provided the province of

thought  as it cycles thru the organized conscience which you

might ought come to know by it's role of a being that's being

rolled into one, a sole entity with a constant vibrancy that

Genius lent, wherefrom laborers working with hidden aims

and methods can cause dissent amid the source if not well

done: but the tribute paid by a splendid poem repays the
loan without penalties,
( or punishment.)