wraith of white
you wander wild
the hinterland
Valkyrie's child

your breath pants mist
in icy caves
you have made
10, 000 graves

your image is
in winter skies
its crystal glitters
in your eyes

loping through
the cold chill wood
its secrets you
have understood

born to lead
long of fang
through the glaciers
your voice rang

lonely in your Lycan heart
you made the ****
your kindest art

wolf of legend
wolf of lore
you'll reign untamed

forevermore


soulsurvivor
(C) 2/16/2014
Rewritten 6/12/2015

I am a forest fire waiting for your love
You are the bridge collapsing under my touch
We burn and destroy for our own pleasure

I still feel your hands
on my face, your memories
flowing through my veins.

©  2017 José

There's a Dove
That casts no shadow
Of its story I will tell
It has flown to
Highest heaven
It has sunk to
Lowest hell

It is pure as
Sparkling snowbanks
It could melt them
Like the Sun
In the end, as at beginning
Over evil, Victory's won!
It will fill your
Soul with longing
It is the End
'Fore time's begun.

There's a Lion
On the prairie
He has strength
That over-awes
In His Face
You'll see compassion
He forgives
Egregious flaws
You can find
Your comfort, solice,
You could sleep
Between His paws

He is ferocious
He's Protection
He is gentler than a lamb
Yet he has the
Greatest power
For he is God -
The strong I AM.

There's a Rose
Within a garden
It's blood red,
For It's been torn
The Rose itself
Has greatest beauty
Tho It wears a
Crown of thorns
It is pure as
Light unblemished
It has grown
For death was born.

It has a scent
Beyond comparing
It has light
That shines within
It has died,
And yet is living
With it's fade
It took your sin

Come, all you
So weak and weary!
All three of these,
The trinity,
Will come into
Your life together
Give you eyes,
That you may see!

Yes, come, bring
All your broken places,
Your heart, or so
The Bible goes,
You'll find help
You will find healing

The Dove, The Lion,
and The ROSE.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/24/2017

This is not my poem
Sure I sat here and wrote it down,
but its not my poem.
Yes, yes I took the time to memorise it so I could see my words reflected in the expressions on your face as I read aloud...
but its not my poem.

This is your poem
You wrote this
You wrote this with your smile
the curve of your lips wrote this
the sparkle in your eyes punctuated every line and measured every pause, perfectly.
Your lips formed every word, sounded every syllable, created the melody that echos in my head as I write YOUR poem.

The rise and fall of your chest first catches my breath, then takes it away completely. Sensibilities and caution tumble down your back like rain in a warm summer shower that falls from a star filled sky, the heavens have opened. My heavens have opened. Caution is now a distant memory, like something once heard but long forgotten, something you knew you once knew but know you no longer have to remember so while there is at least an awareness of it, its passing will not be mourned.

And there, pooled in the small of your back, nestled just above the curve of your buttocks, lies hope.

The hope that the beauty I see in you, in us, in everything since we met isn't a mirage, isnt a projection of some one sided fantasy but that its real. That its as real for you as it for me and that I'm not alone. That I'm not alone in the way I feel and the way I think and the way........ the way.....the way I love. Its hope that knowing how I feel, how much I'm in love, in love with you, the hope that hearing me say out loud the very thing that I've had to fight telling you on a daily basis hasn't scared the **** out of you the way finally admitting it to you has me.
But this isn't my poem.
This is your poem.
You wrote it
and its my gift to you.

On a night like this

My heart swells enormous
Much to give, so little
Left of it

On a night like this

Foggy with dead wishes
Wished, gone unfulfilled
Sent kisses

In midair hang heavy,
Corporeal,

On a night like this

Park bench misery, my
Mystery love, would you
Meet me in the dark time?

May your cold hand find mine
Hold tight, brace for impact
In the ensuing wave of chaos

It, upon me, in waves of warmth..
Revelations of who I am. What and who I may be.

There I sat in communion, terrible and beautiful,  the new, through the passing of a chalice. With a memory that held me.

And the barer of the dead did I become.

There in this shaking earth, did I touch the infinite and and eternal, with creased palms.

A sentinel of  a closed  book
Writ of me, and held with secret all
Of now and ever will.

I, and all the mettle I could muster.
Did now see, the complications of the clock
And I in congress with spherical resign.
, came upon the simplicity of the pains made easy, by slight of hand and trick of thought .

yet

My maker did not hail or send salutation
But began me and left

And to wonders did I fall
to the cool of air
and crimson sky

To falls furious strokes by harlequin and natural  jest

And I fell

To embers made to burn for eternity.

And I burned.

And gave to the Earth
A body of ash forever.