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Tryst Jan 20
I look the last this land I leave behind —
Timeless as water, bountiful as sorrow,
Abode today, a memory tomorrow;
Her contours etched untarnished in my mind —
How sweet our first encounter; how unkind
That time which man is wont to beg and borrow
Brought forth this bitter twilight ere a morrow
When all our self-same sunsets will have shined —
    Henceforth sunrise shall tarry ere it greets me;
    The midday sun shall cast a sterner gaze
    As paths unknown reveal their hidden troves;
    Home is the sacrifice for those who journey
    Without return;  We venture through the groves
    Of doubt and fear to set our lives ablaze.
Tryst Dec 2020
Seasons come and go —
Spring births Summer; Autumn leaves;
Winter yields her woe
Tryst Oct 2020
Witches at your door —
With Frankenstein and Batman?
Candied gifts galore!
Tryst Sep 2020
Painter and poet,
Artists, both — One doth show it,
The other doth quoth!
I found an artist, Liliana Graham, had used one of my poems as inspiration for her painting, which inspired me to write this little piece.

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/858997/sunshine-and-sand/

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Sunshine-and-sand/680519/4020169/view
Tryst May 2020
Star-crossed lovers died,
Upon a blade and poisoned,
At each other’s side.

Woeful was the bride,
At peace where two unseasoned
Star-crossed lovers died,

Taken by the tide
Who named two lovers treasoned,
At each other’s side.

Speak their names with pride,
For in that crypt where reasoned
Star-crossed lovers died,

Love does still reside,
In lovers lain imprisoned
At each other’s side.

Love dies not denied;
It dwells ‘twixt where garrisoned
Star-crossed lovers died,
At each other’s side.
Tryst Apr 2020
LOVE, the greatest gift,
Lies disguised astern cold eyes,
Lost alone adrift.
Tryst Apr 2020
Depression is a flat and empty road,
Gray bitumen against a dull gray sky,
No pit stops to unload a heavy load,
No off-ramps and no stop signs by and by,
A shadow etched upon its lifeless face
From clouds that blot affection from the sun,
Loping alone through endless open space,
Unpurposed hitherto when it begun —

It stretches like a finger pointing forth
To where the earth and heaven press their lips,
A mocking jest to whom may seek its end,
And on its back we mortals weave and wend,
A conga-line of self-absorbent trips
We weigh as gold, yet tally not their worth.
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