Quasi-Desolate

Quasi-Desolate Nov 2016

Red

I longed for red lips,
red roses and rest,
soft cotton and comfort,
found upon your smooth breast.

The red of your love so entangled me,
But oh how I did crave the pain
To banish my own mediocrity
And burn in your molten red rain

In our days we danced so wildly,
Through red skies so happy we flew,
But soon our red turned to crimson,
A red much too heavy for two.

Now I long for white roses,
A somber display,
I’ll curse it in horror,
And fling it away.

Quasi-Desolate Apr 2016

The Ancient Traveler

Such a leathery lonely and laboring,
Traveling traitor is love,
griping and groveling for favor,
a fair-weather forecaster,
a fickle friend,
a lonely wanderer,
out in the night.
I kindly ask
that you keep kicking me,
With your calloused feet of hindsight.

Quasi-Desolate Mar 2016

Smoke and Mirrors

From off to the side I looked,
But the subtle magic
Was no easier to see.
The man,
The one I used to be,
Met me in the mirror,
To tell me no more,
Than what I could embrace,
Ah yes..
Now I see his wasted face.

He was a magician,
Trading in appearance’s,
He came with a flame,
And scarves and cards,
With dazzle and frivolous cheer.

Yet only I turned out to see,
His dreams turned into jokes,
Then gone with thunder
and puffs of smoke.
So he turned a wish into three,
And one by one gave them to me,
Then he smiled and bowed quite low
In a grand sweeping of black,
while softly kissing the edge,
Of his magical silk top hat,
While I was seduced unwillingly.

But he could not change,
The color of my sky,
Or a single graying hair of mine.
He could not make the night more silent,
And when with the sun I awoke,
I found him fast asleep,
Alone with the face of a child.

Quasi-Desolate Mar 2016

Self Portrait

The land awoke today
bright and windless
to gaze upon a porcelain sun.
In love with light,
it shows once more,
those luminous shades,
of brilliant liquid color,
within its well-shaped orb.
It is a clear and selfish light,
that never waits to see,
its own flawed colors,
shattered as broken glass,
reflected in windows of poverty.
Alone this painted orb,
knows only of self-comforting,
and in its seclusion,
it will never know,
through either love or wisdom,
just how beautiful it can be.

Quasi-Desolate Feb 2016

The Laughter of Trees

Once in a dream, the trees in an orchard
called out laughing to me saying:
Here is this sweet fruit,
hold its fullness in your palm,
Feel long of its soft, sun-warmed skin.
And so I held one, then forever wanting..
wanting others I could never hold,
as the sunlight fell through expectant leaves,
in a golden cascade of a summer scene,
giving the trees something more to laugh about.

Quasi-Desolate Feb 2016

Solitude

Below the tree line,
love ran its rank course,
in hungry silence, with diligence,
where all are meat, and none are free,
to the lone wolf prowling,
through the pines,
pure of heart, and lovers dreams,
over many a distant hill he roams,
to suit his sole intelligence,
with comforts none, he speaks to me.

Here amongst these rolling hills,
sharing none other's love or trust,
resigned to chase his dimming suns,
with knowledge of his end to come.
None should know such lonely thoughts,
as this simple creature, filled with light,
chasing always loves request,
to find his longing in the night.
Howling deeds that others shun,
Silver drops of heartache shimmer,
from jaws of silent moonlight come,
glowing with the faintest glimmer,
of peaceful evenings left undone.

Such longing desires for others,
those friends, enemies, lovers,
they cannot see above,
such chilly hills where solitude lives,
Lone wolves run free and live apart,
They have no brothers,
No friends, no lovers,
to claim their lonely wandering heart,
the grimmest, coldest winds that blow,
are all they need to nourish and feed,
their hunger wandering cold,
and lean among the silent trees.

Quasi-Desolate Feb 2016

My Words

"Your words," she said,
"so deliciously delicate,"
But how would she know?
Could she taste her succulent syllables,
as they dripped from my quivering lips?