When the most potent
words are found
within the marble
quarry of the heart,
are chiseled free
from the incoherent
mass, set thoughtfully
in the right places,
the poem becomes
a living being,
its song
echoing long and long
in the deeps of the soul
whence it came.

Sweet my lady, I long to see
Inside the heart and mind of thee.
Were I to look there, what would I find?
Gracious lady, tell me your mind.

Do you fear I do not love thee,
Because my face you have not seen?
Or do you trust my love's unchang'd,
As it has ever been?

Do you care to know my heart,
Or have you tired of me?
My lady sweet, do tell, do tell,
My lady sweet, do tell me.

As lovers will, I feel bereft
In exile from thee, sweet!
My lady I confess to thee,
My fears I lay at thy feet.

Whether you love me yet or no,
I will not my love betray, though
Without you my own light grows dim,
I hardly see the way.

Love struck a spark
when first our eyes
into each others gazed--
once kindled there,
pure passion flared
into a fiery blaze.

Love fiercer burns
each time we meet.
The dead cry, "It is sin!"
these hearts alight,
twin torches bright,
blazing in the wind.

So this then is hell:
to live on in pain
with a heart that won't die
though no love remains.

Deep below the surface
of a sea storm-tossed, frenetic
lies buried an ancient sailing ship
once bold but now pathetic.

Her rigging long since torn away,
her masts and canvas rotten,
naked bones alone remain
of sailors long forgotten.

She bore these brave adventurers
toward a brand new land.
She and they alike were cursed
never to reach a strand.

But if ye look more closely
at her shattered, mouldered deck,
ye'd find the priceless treasure here
hidden in every wreck.

The gentle drawl of Guy Clark's voice
beckoned me from sleep,
saying that when his father died
he'd found no tear to weep.

It wasn't that his dad was mean,
nor that he didn't try,
Guy couldn't find a worthy tear--
he wasn't yet ready to cry.

The blade was broken off the knife
a half inch from the tip.
He could almost feel its  jagged edge,
recalling that camping trip

His dad had let him take the knife
to a Boy Scout Jamboree
it was there he broke the blade tip off
throwing at a tree

That knife had served at daddy's side
when he went off to war,
saving his life in combat.
Of that he'd say  no more.

His father never said a word--
put the broken knife away.
It rested in a dresser drawer
until his dying day.

It was only when Guy's hand had found
and closed around the handle
that he knew, amid the sudden tears
Dad had loved him more than Randall.