With every pulse, my tired mind grows strong
As your eyes absorb my every detail.
My limbs grow weak to hear your silent song
As I lay inside our own fragile veil.

A curtain of darkness surrounds us two.
The ghosts of everyday memories pass,
And yet they dare not invade our thoughts true:
The light from your eyes makes each moment last.

And yet the clock knows no innocence here:
Nature's divines oblivious again.
I feel the end of our time drawing near.
My heart races to sing its words, and then

You're gone once again. My mind slows, it seems.
No one to listen to me but my dreams.

Eggshell-capped waters,
Teeming with briny life,
Lifting and sighing
For the moon's haunting eye;

Swirling flotsam
Amid vagrant currents,
Tumbling aimlessly
Down stones smoothed to shine;

A midnight, silent
But for echoes of purpose,
Yet alive with the movement
Of dreams between leaves;

An ocean of grasses,
Bowing in breathless breeze,
So softly shuddering
Against earthy embrace;

Your voice speaks to me.

A tempest moulders in the distant air,
Obscured by darkness, thick with arrogance;
The intermittent rumblings make aware
That night of fright that skirts our sentience.

There is no use in preparations now,
The wrath impending is without withdrawal.
Would only we had heeded nature's vow,
The worst might not descend in disavowal.

Yet here we stand in pooling ignorance,
The very atmosphere our own regret,
For as the price of foresight's hinderance,
We stand to fare this evening sopping wet.

A tempest moulders, filled with looming light.
That we expect it shall not ease this night.

How the skies open up when I cannot.

I look to watch the ****** drops
But find that which I searched to lose.
Innocent rivulets of an unmarred present
Trickle down a ghostly face that looks at me,
But I could not call this face my own.

The sullen features most familiar,
Without a promise to hold them gaunt,
Now frame an old familiar friend:
A pair of eyes, the common dark,
But tinged with hunger, drive, conviction -
Those eyes could pierce that haunted pane
And look right back at me.

It could be just a trick of the light -
Though night has little to speak of -
But clever minds would see the placid rain,
With no regard for mice nor men,
And see how nature's purest untouched nectar
Falls at present to wash away the past.

Whether moonbeams or temporal divination,
I saw the promised land in that pallid plastic.
To call those hungry, driven eyes my own -
A fire burns within my tindered heart,
And all I have to offer is kindest kindling.

How the skies opened up when I could not.

A woman like the sea -
So strong and full of life
Yet every bit as calming.
Even through the crashing waves,
Reducing sails to shrapnel,
Tumbling and ruined,
The next day she murmurs,
Calm and playful.
The livelihood of all.

And I her shore -
Always steadfast, always faithful,
Yet not without my jagged edges,
Lifeless, unforgiving tracts,
But tenfold open spaces
Waiting for the tide.
Yet no matter how unmoving,
With time, and her most gentle grace,
The tallest mountains turn to valleys.

And though the two are so opposed,
The one cannot exist apart:
What is a shore without his sea,
But barren, empty land, alone?
And what is ocean without land
But unforgiving, cold, and formless?

Oh, to have a woman like the sea.

Exalted spring.
No time of all can claim more beauty,
For flowers are in bloom today,
While warmth is in the air.

A tender rose has shed her shawl,
Her petals full and bright,
A blossom most superb.
Yet thorns still keep her safe...

Is safe a truly blissful thing?
To wait in bloom for nothing?
To fade without a touch?

What is a flower born to do
But share it's fragrance,
Please another?

I wish you would accept this wish,
You blossom without equal,
For flowers come and go,
But memories persist,

And I will never lose the sight
Of rose in fullest bloom,
But always out of reach -
To be admired always.

I wish you would resolve,
For autumn comes too soon.

Consoled by the polished thought
That a thousand suns will live and die
Before the stuff of consciousness
Fades into obscurity, I observe.

I see a timid creature stumble,
In want of clarity and mirth
Yet bound by earthy shackles
And oblique society
To live in dust.

Yet this dust golem is not a mistake,
But a millionth millions of mistakes,
The individual a multiverse
Borne of the stuff of stars-
Of those thousand suns burning
Like the furious passion of
An angry deity without a name,
Known only to those with open minds
And closed eyes, not the reverse.

This little mite has a home,
And myriad homes in every heart
That beats under the constant light
Of suns without number,
Living and dying
For you.