I'll never forget that day
you caught me off-guard like that.
The way you so effortlessly
drew my breath away
upon first sight
as if to make room
for what could have been.

The Century’s Wake
by Michael R. Burch

(lines written at the close of the 20th century and introduction of the 21st century)

Take me home. The party is over,
the century passed—no time for a lover.
And my heart grew heavy
as the fireworks hissed through the dark
over Central Park,
past high-towering spires to some backwoods levee,

hurtling banner-hung docks to the torchlit seas.
And my heart grew heavy;
I felt its disease—
its apathy,
wanting the bright, rhapsodic display
to last more than a single day.

If decay was its rite,
now it has learned to long
for something with more intensity,
more gaudy passion, more song—
like the huddled gay masses,
the wildly-cheering throng.

You ask me—
“How can this be?”
A little more flair,
or perhaps only a little more clarity.
I leave her tonight to the century’s wake;
she disappoints me.

Originally published by The Centrifugal Eye. Keywords/Tags: new, century, wake, new year, party, Central Park, fireworks, song, display

I stand in the dilapidated chapel.
Paint peeling from the walls like the bark
of a silver birch.
Dull light cascades in from high archways.
I now approach the manor, in through
the kissing gate kissed with moss and dew.
A ****** of crows battle across the  battlements in still air.

standing like this
(they call it immortality)
with a frozen smile and ponderous medals
is more barbaric
than lying in state
with a red rose on my chest

at dawn, two lovers awakened at my feet
and began reciting the beautiful engraved lies
between kisses and laughs
there was a sharp pain in my chest
at the very spot where the first ray of light hit
at the very spot where they pinned the red rose

It's 11 o'clock; I'm at park
with dreadful shock
hear some banger & truck
_night!are you crazy to invite the ghost to
ride th bicycle on my mind?
can't wait til the miracle jot down
"turned verb of a noun"
let me get rid of the vand!

In ten days when I land in London
Don't come looking for me in the park.
Don't go searching the alleys in Camden
I won't wait at my favourite landmark.
I'll be looking through different venues
Watching closely the people I love.
Getting tired of marvelous hypocrites, whose
Affections are shown with the glove .

There was an old poet named Mark
Who loved to steal walks in the park.
One day he was frightened,
A big dog did bite him.
He does nothing more on a lark.