Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
   Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
   And woke to find her hopes betrayed.

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
   And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
   Thou dost renew thy vows to me.

Then come to me in dreams, my love,
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

Rap the ground the bull has come
there will be a slaughter.
Now be still, take breath, be calm.
Boil it’s truth in spit and silt
then pour out the fetid remains
the earth will scar as a sign of redemption
and shame shall fall away.

dead plants and concrete and
awful awful skinless things

in each brown eye
in every silence

start

screa

ming

My father always had a picture
hanging up over the mantle.

It was an oil,
possibly acrylic, painting.

I've always been terrible with art,
and the definitions and distinctions
therein.

It had a gold-leaf frame, and I recall,
as a child, staring at the shine
that the sun reflected off of the
beautiful gold that surrounded the
picture.

The picture itself, however, was
far more extraneous:
a deer head and the body of a businessman.

The suited businessman's body sat in a chair,
within the painting, but instead of a man's head
poking out of the collar, there was a deer's head.
It was adorned with antlers, two to be exact, and
it sat above that mantle, staring emotionless into you
or the distance.

I was never sure which it was.

And after my father passed, I inherited the deer head
and the body of a businessman.

I miss when you'd whisper
Secrets and dreams
In my ear
Under stars and summer moonlight
While you picked at your guitar
With a lighter
And a smile.

Cool morning breezes blow through the trees,
Green and fresh are their dew-kissed leaves,
Sunrays slant through the trees and hit the ground;
The music of peace is all around.
A dove skims across the beautiful river beautifully,
Soft little breezes blow the trees sweetly,
Little ferns are growing;
And with happiness my cheeks are glowing.
I love the beautiful forest that I see,
God created this earth so beautifully,
All of the birds do sing;
Of this beautiful Peaceful Morning.

*~Marian~