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Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
We should honor men of yore
country squires who lived before
men who came of noble roots
hedged by horses, crops, and boots -

Who replaced those men of yore
men whose presence filled a door
men who wouldn't take the bait
of the latest thing to hate?

There are those who you can find
of the selfless, meek, and kind -
But, these days those men are feared
by the jealous, they are jeered -

Here we watch accusing fools
weaving all their woke-up rules -
Why do they do what they do?
Because the devil told them to -
----------------
Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
Charred two-by-four fingers reaching to heartless clouds
as if begging Olympian gods to revoke Time's cruel jest
and reverse the flames of hellish appetite
to re-edify the humble house of a mishandled youth

Even a hovel is better than a pit

Sad-soaked earth in muddy remnants
of firehose ***** wet accusatory puddles
in apologetic licks
fake-begging forgiveness
while secretly hiding
sardonic grins of Neroesque thrills
of remembered flames while
tongue-stroked teeth proclaim victory
of one more pyromaniacal gorge
to be relived
and relived
and filed in the gray-matter library of ***** memories
to summon and chew for pleasure
on nights filled with the vacuum-gape
of nothing in particular

One Swinburneian spark whispers
"Enough"
while the Housmanian bat-squeak urges
"More"
and the Voltaireian whale-breach booms
"Yes!"

The only dark, wet echo that sounds
in the unfeeling distance is
"Why not?  I like orange."
and four more lives are swept
into the storm drain
with the suet and burnt dreams
Jun 2021 · 274
never say, "circle back"
Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
---- never say, ---
 "circle back" --
it makes
 people
  cringe                                           ­   crowd
   and                                            in              sa­ddest
    light                                       all                      the
      a pity                                    of        time        follow
          candle                                 mod­ern           to
                in their soul                                       likes
                             for another                       who
                                           ­   lemming-dupe
Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
While alone the midnight hour
in the upper abbey tower
when the air became much colder
I felt a hand upon my shoulder

Jumping to a panicked flight
never looking left or right
taking stairs four by four
racing for the bottom floor

I will never know what being
or what ghastly hollow thing
touched me in that darkened room
promising my dreadful doom

But, I know that I can tell
in this simple quatranelle
you can search but never find
horrors worst than in the mind
Jun 2021 · 92
Bulgarian Jewels
Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
with jewel-box vistas
the hopeful heart thrills
of amethyst giants
behind emerald hills

a carpet of lavender
blooms all around
while tourmaline waters
echo the sound

the sapphire shadows
on high-mountain snows
melt into diamonds
of glittering flows

from halcyon gold
on cupola domes
to pearl-pink love
in Bulgarian homes

the heart of the land
is bejeweled and complete
with tender devotion
both precious and sweet
Jun 2021 · 103
?
Seven Nielsen Jun 2021
?
When you question, you accuse
When you question, you will lose
Always  nod and soon agree
Always nod and say, 'I see'
May 2021 · 81
Timeless Spirals
Seven Nielsen May 2021
Only the pinwheel spiral shapes
of the fuchsia and heliotrope galaxies
tell us in what direction they spin
as they travel at thousands of miles per hour-
yet, in their vastness, they seem as immovable
as the patience of God
May 2021 · 107
Opening the Heart
Seven Nielsen May 2021
Opening the heart
is like the blossoming of a flower --
Once begun
miracles happen --
May 2021 · 89
Each Day Is A Gift
Seven Nielsen May 2021
Each day begins as an unwrapped gift
that when opened should be lived
in the most hopeful way
                But
Sometimes I feel like rewrapping my gift
and going back to bed
Seven Nielsen May 2021
When blinks the sun out her eye
that last orange spot between mountain peaks -
and the sky and clouds ignite in flame,
the earth glows in her joy at being bathed
if only for a moment
in twilight's precious gold -
May 2021 · 83
Song of The Puckrum-Bucks
Seven Nielsen May 2021
the Puckrum-Buck clan lived down by the Keowee River
     in a tar-paper shack
their heads were either too big or too small
and their eyes were deep-set like in a cave -
     blackened teeth
          blotchy skin
               bald patches
                    and all disproportionate

old Garold was missing one eye, and his left leg
his eye patch was a piece of ***** handkerchief
stuffed right into the socket
he wore dirt-slicked overalls and a homemade pegleg -
Ma Puckum-Buck's filthy hair was ******* with a shoelace
her dresses were floursack rags
stretched over a bloated frame
                but when the Puckrum-Bucks got together
                they could sing like angels -
                a grimy sideshow
                                          of harmonic angels
Apr 2021 · 1.2k
Front of the Line
Seven Nielsen Apr 2021
-----------Just--------------
         how
     good
    does
        a poem
                  have to be
                                 to be on Front page ?                       
                                                                ­    ?
                                                           ­          ?
                                                               ­       ?
                                                               ­         ?
                                                             ­             ?
                                                             ­                ?
                                                               ­                 ?
                                              ­                                       ?
                        ­                                                                 ­  ?
                                                             ­                                   ?
                            ­                                                                 ­        ?
                                                               ­      (I'm asking for a friend)
Apr 2021 · 134
The Tear of Lost Love
Seven Nielsen Apr 2021
A
day
when I
think again
of you, is a day
when I search my
threadbare  heart for
just one memory of our
times  together on  those
wonderful lavender days
before those solemn
talks of "honesty"
when you

left me
 with only a tear and a broken hope
On such days, I see your face lit by sunshine
while I see my face reflected the growing puddle of dispair
There is a curse that seems to come with ambivalent and juxtaposed memories which tends to split and facet recollections.  Accuracy becomes undependable.
(I'm just guessing).
Apr 2021 · 76
in rain-pour thoughts
Seven Nielsen Apr 2021
in rain-pour thoughts, I wandered lost
and could not guess the dreaded cost
among the drops of hopes and fears
which were rain, and which were tears?
Seven Nielsen Apr 2021
Pity the wolf that hungers after unattainable flesh
and the man who hem-haws excuses
to a boss, a wife, or a critic with a tapping foot
and a walrus mustache beneath a gin-blossomed schnozz
and above a smoke-coffee breath
just waiting to jump in with a negative judgment
and superior attitude

Pity the lamb that encounters the wolf
with a last hoof-dance of submission before dying
in choked and bleeding silence
to be wolfed down -
or the haughty judge or the humble sojourner
one on the high bench
and the other on the low flame
remaining in the tepid zone
never hot enough to burn away the betrayals of "friends"
who giggle and smirk
the minute he leaves a room
because of jealous burrs beneath
their burdensome self-imposed saddles

Evict the aching heart of "might be love"
but also beware of the heart of "just for now"
in spite of a flirt at the punch bowl
or a punch at the Super Bowl -
(they are the same thing in a way)
so
if you enter the competition
remember
the trophy doesn't have a palpitating heart
but the loser does
and so does the winner in anticipation of the judgments;
bad, good, or best in show
or even the gray-skinned badge of
"also-ran"

                                    ~~~

Envy the poor without schedule or purse
and no merciless fear of competition
nor door key to hunt-up under the dusty mat
in the dark, alone
nor houseplant to **** with the over-kindness of drowning
nor hinge to mend with duct tape and false hope
but he who flits away to nothing important
whenever
having no one to object

Envy the friendless who can storm off from a spat
without compunction or a "maybe I should have"
trailing like toilet paper
stuck on the heel
of a shoe

Envy the humiliated caterpillar
who finds himself to be a moth
instead of the monarch butterfly
he thought he would be
when he emerges from his cocoon
thinking it was a chrysalis
because the responsibilities end
when the burden of beauty is lost
and the new moth will soon forget
what might have been
in the constant effort of plain existence

Evict the housefly posing as a harmless spot
and throw away his home
that rotting plumb
because the fruit of deceit is worse
than the deceit of fruit gone bad
on the hidden side
to feed the filthy insect in secret

Does a raven learn to speak on his own?
 Never
Does a raven learn to steal on his own?
 Always

Where there is darkness, there is learning
where there is light, there is teaching
and always resentment or boasting
so learn to keep your mouth shut in the dark
until you learn a secret or two
then you can chat like a hairdresser
until you trip up a braggart trying to outdo everyone
because an unmasked lie is like water cast on a single flame
stifling a forest fire before its first real heartbeat
    
Envy the tiny grains of sand on the shores
for they hold back the mighty seas
with their tiny hands
and are flattered by the lapping waves
like slaves with ostrich-plume-fans
worshipping in genuflections and kowtows
endlessly
and all in the most genuine humility
that sand can muster in a crowd

                                   ~~~

Envy the coils of the brain
for they are there to provide more surface
and those folds have no scintillating hue like blood
for the elephant is gray and the ladybug is red
one can think and **** with a step
but the other can fly but must soon perish
the brain can reason
but blood turns black and dies
when it comes into light and air

Evict the vivid for it will give up the ghost
and
envy the drab for it will inherit the girth

                                  ~~~

Pity your own resolve
for you administer promises to your pillow each night
and swear oaths to the mirror each morning
like a child in detention
or an old soul in self-deception
each with good intention
but neither with gray-matter retention

Envy the broken heart
for reality has breakage and sorrow
but healing always follows
and the truth
when faced
can never be truly denied
and the mended bone is stronger than at first

                                  ~~~

Eviction is that final stance
at the cliff's edge
having come to the sea of eternity
with all the summoned bravery possible
holding the rubble of broken imaginings
and self-deceptions
wrapped in the ****** garb of new determination
after the battle
to be thrown into the deep
weighted with the stones of promise

Therefore
do the right thing

Cast your lies
into the draught

EVICT
and begin new-faced in the world
Self-examination gives us keys to many doors, but it does not guarantee that even one of those doors will be opened.
Apr 2021 · 309
Adrienne Is The Lovely Moon
Seven Nielsen Apr 2021
Adrienne has flown to become the lovely moon
       and her ageless face is always toward me
                 watching
                      from
                          a    
                         heartless
                        canopy
                      of
                    my
               glistening
          tears
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
the clover and the bee
held a requiem for my departing spirit
though I had not died
nor had I crossed that river of ghostly intersession
spoken of -- in hushed tones
between illness and that last soft breath
in darkened apricot-bathed chambers
of deepest reverence

lavender light shone in the pupil of Death's eye
glowing his ravenous invitation to me
cruelly -- at my weakest state
between the yellowed bedclothes of illness
and the bone-white shroud of sleeping clay

my stalwart spirit jumped to remembrance
of that hidden strength
in my secret cupboard
of once-forgotten thoughts
where sunny, buzzing meadows
are locked away on tiny hooks
-- for such a needy day
long nourished on blossomed perfume and
the sweet honey
of my innermost ponderings
and hopes

with every sinew of my last effort
I rallied with uncertain goad
and sitting straight
I whispered

NO

~~~
Death heard that word as a shout
and flew
on bat-winged terror
out
of
the round window
in my soul
leaving me whole
and alone
with the fragrance of the clover
and hearing only the breeze
and the friendly hum
of my physician
the
golden honeybee
This piece is dedicated, in heart and style, to Emily Dickinson.
Mar 2021 · 91
Hear the Voice
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
---------------------------------------------------
                                                   A new
                                                       time
                                                           has
                                                            come­
                                                             to the
                                                              wo­rld
                                                             ­ at large
                                                           ­  and
                                                           many
                                                         hearts
                                                    have
       ­                                       learned  
                                        to hear
                                   the voice
                                of the
                               sky
                                and
                                  of the
                                       land
                                           in those
                                                quiet
                                                      moments
  ­                                                         that come
                                                            ­    when the
                                                             ­         heavy
                                                  ­                       stone
                                                           ­                of
                                                                ­          trials
                                                ­                         is placed
                                                                ­     around
                                                                ­  the necks
                                                           ­    of each
                                                          of us.
                                                      ~~~
   ­                                               Is
                                              it
             ­                            truly
                               ­     the
                               voice
                            of
                        nature
                    alone
                  or a
                greater
                power-
                a presence
                 greater
                   than
                     the earth
                       or even
                           the universe?
                                Indeed
                ­                     it is
                                          both
               ­                                 greater
                                                        than this
                                                            ­   and yet
                                                             ­      smaller
                                                         ­            than
                                                            ­         the
                                                                ­    tiniest
                                                                ­   grain
                                                           ­      of
                                                              ­sand
                                                           and
                                                     it has
                                            the value
                                      of the
                               largest
                         diamond
                that the
           earth
        can
     offer.
    It
    is
      that
         kind
             and
                 gentle
                      voice
                              of
                                   God
                                          falling
           ­                                     freely
                     ­                                 down
                           ­                                 into
                           ­                                     our
                        ­                                           hearts.
                                                       ­            ~~~
                                                             ­      So
                                                              ­    look
                                                        ­        forward
                                                 ­            child
                                                         and
                                                     know
                                                    you
    ­                                                are
             ­                                         in the
                                                          hands
                                                        ­       of the
                                                             ­         creator
                                                         ­                     of all
                                                             ­                      things
                                                          ­                            and
                                 ­                                                       He
       ­                                                                 ­                  is
                                                             ­                              talking
                                                                ­                          directly
                              ­                                                            to
                                                                ­                        you.
Mar 2021 · 290
The Crescent Moon
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
-----  I regard the crescent moon
   wrapped in velvet night --
It is like a discarded
fingernail
of God
suspended
   above
       in
            midnight  
                           acrylic                            clipping
                    ­                  after a nonchalant
Mar 2021 · 101
SCREAM
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
SOMETIMES VOICES
MAKE HOME HELL
EVERYTHING THEY SAY
THEY YELL

IT IS HARD
TO MAKE THEM QUIT
BUT YOU HAVE TO
DO YOUR BIT

LET THEM KNOW
THAT YOU'RE ON TOP
IF YOU WANT
TO MAKE THEM STOP

LET THEM KNOW
YOU'VE JOINED THE TEAM
WHEN YOU ANSWER
ALWAYS SCREAM
Mar 2021 · 222
my all
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
see the trees on the hills
my friend?
they are the knowing eye

see all the starlings in flight
my dear?
they listen in the sky

see all the rivers and lakes
my love?
they know my soulful call

all of them know the thoughts
of my heart
they know that you are my all
Mar 2021 · 283
Winterscape
Seven Nielsen Mar 2021
angels of the solstice
gather on exalted cloudways
and descend as heliotrope whirlwinds
bejewelling leafless trees
with melting ice and dew
adorning in silence

they beckon verdant spring
when shimmering moonlight
will cease to glister on diamond snow
and winter's periwinkle gowns
shall withdraw into violet pillows
and then into silver streams of resignation

the tissue-paper sky is a luminous dome
veined with gold and pearl anticipation
the meadows are covered with gossamer blankets
that drink the sound of the ruby-red cardinal
like a sacrificial drop of blood on the velvet-white altar
offered for the birth of the first tender blooms
Feb 2021 · 179
A Ruby Sunset
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
the sunset
was like melted rubies
bathed by a topaz spring --
above it all
two amorphous pearl clouds drifted
rimmed with molten gold
while the lake
below
was a mirrored goddess
with moonlight in her lazuline eyes
and stars in her indigo hair
Feb 2021 · 108
Loving You
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
loving you is like
folding a fitted sheet --
there is a way to do it
but no one knows
what it is
Feb 2021 · 205
rhyme w/o meter
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
the clever rhyme
can be sublime
and some could not be neater
but make the climb
'cause every time
good rhyme must have good meter.
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
At T's funeral
Fat Carlo took his shoes off
first thing
and he did it with that secret little smile of his
. . . watching . . .

He stretched out the laces all crooked
like mangled snakes
mud-brown and sickly pistachio-green
with aglet heads worn down to
nubs
right in front of everyone
. . . goading . . .

The wound on his big toe
'that don't never heal'
is a trophy of his careless barefoot run
with his crip-dog
Hopsack
and that violent tantrum after reading
Colosimo's political column
in the Daley Herold
about democrats stealing water shares
. . . seething . . .

Chalk up Fat Carlo's actions
to his constant fits of
revenge
and his hillbilly upbringing
. . . prodding  . . .

And, it's because he won't listen to Paola's demands
about keeping his shoes on in public
or not picking his teeth with a safety pin --
always riding him in lowdown ways
. . . taunting  . . .

Just keep praising Paola
for her stupid things
like O-Cedar-waxing the casket
or the raspberry-Renuzit-spray-shower
she gave the mortuary
before the service
'just in case'
. . . showboating  . . .

Carlo gets mad whenever he hears
anyone complement his Paola --
but
do it anyway
'cause
it really gets to him
and if you make Paola smile
she might give you a slice
of her special mocha cake
later
after we're all done grievin'
. . . faking . . .
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
The manacles of time clank shut around self-betrayed necks
with merciless finality
as the corpses in unvomited graves
try to whisper their regrets
through lips sewn shut with mortician's twine
and sealed shut
with the flesh-colored wax
of guilt

Mirages of banquets are occasionally conjured
to make dead mouths water with dust
beneath the leafmold
of tortured eternity

Lavish illusions of light and air are offered
but only the humus soil
is spooned by time
into the nostrils
with the earthworms of
of resentment

Silence is breached in perfidy
and craving in lying visions
of bounteous tables teeming with life's roasted plenty
once spread before these bulging eyes
and withered tongues

Echoing chambers are filled
with mental cries of those souls
who are flayed, rolled, and crusted
in the offscourings
of their own ground-up contrition
like a coat of pumice and splintered glass of hate

The vile demons hear those imagined screams
and laugh tauntingly at the suffering
which is their own midnight meal

Lust feeds the brazen
as remorse devours the penitent
for a recalled kiss
or stolen touch of affection
is but provender
to those ravenous memories and illusions
of long-forgotten feasts of love
that flicker in the mind
as though reflected
in rainbow-colored mud puddles
distorted
by drifting slicks
of motor oil

The dreamer will never be aware
that his own summoned memories
are the filthy womb of his endless nightmares
that drag after-birth chains
through his every waking hour
and prevent even a moment
of healing slumber

No

The menaced head
never sleeps
and the feast of illusions
never ends
Feb 2021 · 133
The Last Leaf
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
stillness . . .
              then    
                      it
                        falls
         ­                 like
                           a
                       gossamer  
                  feather
                 from
                     a
                        fairy
       ­                      tern
                               in
                              a
                         waking
                   dream
                 slowly
                  finding
                      its
                         grave
                              on
                                  the
                        ­               forest
                                               floor
                                                       next­ to
                                                              ­     its
                                                                ­      dead
                                                      ­                  brothers . . .
                                                                      this
                                                            ­   last
                                                         leaf
                                                         ­    of
                                                                   autumn . . .
                                                                ­                            alone
                         yet surroundedd with the corpsess of fallen comrads
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
two giant heads that flank the gate
of Charnel House since ancient date
sit pocked and scared in ruined state
and bare the names of Death and Hate

within Death's skull, are nested crows
upon Hate's lips, a gray moss grows
and Death is carved in screaming pose
while from Hate's eyes, a black stain flows

the wrought iron words arched overhead
say this is where you bring your dead
so veil your face and bow your head
as they are lowered to their bed

a filmy ghost descends the stair
with sunken eyes, no nose, no hair
he holds his ghastly evil stare
to frighten souls who wander there

yet, one day, the dead shall rise
and wipe the tears from hopeful eyes
but, Hate has suffered his demise
for this is where all anger dies
Feb 2021 · 94
My Days Begin With You
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
O
my
days
begin
with you
thoughts of you
your graceful stirring
your lilting voice in song
your eyes as cerulean jewels
your hands in lovely moving
your gentle brow in resting
your smile in tenderness
your heart in kindness
your sweet resolve
your calm spirit
all of the beautiful things
that blend to make you and only you
Feb 2021 · 419
Lizzy's Hatchet
Seven Nielsen Feb 2021
Sitting somewhere to this day
Lizzy's hatchet hides away
Only Lizzy knows its place
Wrapped in blood-soaked antique lace
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
Lift, and you sour                                                      high from the low
     scorn, and you lose                                          joy from the sad      
            cry, and you bore                              lark from the crow               
                 sing, and you choose    >    good from the bad
Jan 2021 · 865
Sincerity
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
Sincerity listens
but does not hear
when arguments lie
in hate and fear
Jan 2021 · 110
Forced Solemnity
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
When silence is demanded
it is like being
handcuffed
from
behind
   ~~~
how unkind
Jan 2021 · 98
The Jagged Sculpture
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
The jagged sculpture you have made of me
comes by chipping away
bit by bit
with each slight rejection --
            I
              can
                    never                                can I?
                             be smooth again,
Jan 2021 · 135
The Last Moments of a Dream
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
.          .          .          It is all I ever recall
                            the flash of a face
                     a turn of the dial
             a road
     a dog
  a dead uncle
a birthday cake iced in blue
the last sentence of a conversation
   the last few moments of my dreams
     then
        upon
             waking . . .
                   they fade into my pillow
                           even when I try
                                    to grab
                                              them
                                                         back           .           .           .
Jan 2021 · 86
How to Win an Argument
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
Divide
then
Concur . . .
           of that
           I'm sure
Jan 2021 · 77
Lost Thoughts
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
Marie called
and
I lost my thoughts --

They were good thoughts too
But, I still love Marie
Jan 2021 · 70
Your Voice
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
your  
             voice
                        fills
                             a
                                         spot
                                           in
            ­                               my
                               ­        heart
                             that
                        has
                 no
                           doors
                            or
                                                 windows
Jan 2021 · 78
You Haiku
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
Why are you on top
of the list inside my day?
Get out of my brain.
Jan 2021 · 99
Sneaky Wednesday
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
I need to check my pockets
I've lost another day

embarrassing
what happened to Tuesday?

my garbage cans
missed the bus again

they are like orphans at the curb
unemptied and humiliated

Wednesday, you're tricky
you always sneak up on me

you pretend that you are Tuesday
by seeming unremarkable

maybe the neighbors will think
I'm out of town so the cans were left out

no, that won't work
the lids are yawning full to overflowing

maybe the neighbors will think
I'm just very early for next Tuesday

who am I kidding?
oh, yeah . . . me

it's you, Wednesday
you're just sneaky
Jan 2021 · 116
ContraDictionary
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
He heard and said, "I see."
He saw and said, "I hear you."
He liked what he had done,
but said, "Don't do as I do."
Jan 2021 · 98
Can I Drive?
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
-------------------Can I drive?--------------------------
                              De­ath asked
                                and got into the car
                                ahead of her
                              She didn't answer
                           but took the wheel
                      as usual
                  Music? Death suggested,
            pointing to the radio
       with his skeletal hand
       but she paid no attention
        driving up the on-ramp
           and picking up speed
                 You still have chocolate
                       on your chin,
                              Death lied
                                   She turned the
                                          rear-view mirror
                                              to check her face -
                                                That is when
                                               Death
                                          grabbed
                                  the                          
                    wheel
Jan 2021 · 76
One Poetic Word
Seven Nielsen Jan 2021
O
speak
one word
in poetic form
and I will melt with
the joy of hearing that
singular sound
for an artful
word is
more
than
a
sound.
It
is
the
stroke
of an
artist's
brush
on the
canvas
of my
being
and my soul
drinks that word
to its healing
as though
it is the
elixir
of
hope.
Dec 2020 · 93
The Night Sound
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
Was that a soft step?
In the darkness, a creaking?
No,
         now it is still.
Dec 2020 · 78
Tallulah's Kitty-Crossing
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
I watched her carefully stepping
   across the top of the back fence
     avoiding the yard between
       my no-feline yard
        my yard where Chaos once patrolled
        my unsafe yard where Tallulah felt unwelcome

       Softly, silently, she steps with velvet soft paws    
      crossing all the way
     then leaps
    out
    of
    sight
     into the
      Watson's yard
         Watson's safe yard
              Watson's yard of welcome  

                          I wish she would stay
                                            long enough
                                                    to enjoy
                                                   the sun
                                               and finally
                                          be brave

                            Here, kitty
                        Here, Tallulah
                           Chaos has
                                   been dead
                                             for
                                                       two
                                                                ­   years
                                                        ­                         now --
                                                              ­     Give me another chance
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
Lo, pray to Him in gloaming
When day has bid farewell
As men have ceased their roaming
When angels come to dwell

He is our Holy Sentry
He is the watchful Eye
In Him is granted entry
In Him, all fear must die

Lo, pray to Him at first light
When sights again are true
As men are granted new sight
Give thanks for life anew
Dec 2020 · 54
The Caring Haiku
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
You say I don't care?
What do you know of caring?
I say you don't care.
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
If
you
speak
with sweet
lithe tongue, my
sanguine heart will hear.
If you sing refrains unsung,
my soul becomes a tear.
But, if you say you
love me not,
I will not
live
the
night.
For you are all there is of me,
my
heart,
my
breath,
my
sight.
Dec 2020 · 75
I Shatter Like Crystal
Seven Nielsen Dec 2020
I shatter like a crystal glass
on
a marble floor
when your disapproval
hits me
like
a
heart-shaped
bullet
fired from that rosebud
mouth
of
yours.
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