I thought I would pen a hymn for you,
But now I don't know if I want to.
You used to say that you love me too.
Now we just scream until we’re –
Blue in the face, I hear you
Cursin’ my name under your breath.
And every time that we drink
We say something that we regret.
And I don't know, I don't know
How to get past this.

I can't count all of the lies,
All the times you said goodbye.
To only come back with teary eyes
Say you got no one else in your life.
And I always let you back inside
To mend our woes for a short time.
Then come the fights, the words, the cries
The sayin' "this won't happen twice".
This is what we know, it’s all we know
Will we get past this?

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this’ll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And you'll get past this.

I hope you know I don't hate you
I never have, I never will.
Been with you come the rain or wind.
It's something that I do –
Miss, I know you're leavin’ soon
Before the eventide comes ‘round.
Here's farewell to creviced love
I might not see you when dawns the morrow.
But I don't know, yeah I don't know

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this'll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And we'll get past this.

beauty is the night----
the solace majestic that warrants
the weary eye----
the muse ethereal to whom is beholden
the creative mind.----
yonder the elden oak
'twixt darkness and moonlight;
the wolves whose cries resound
beneath the ebon skies;
the fauna savage that prowls
with prey in sight.
anon, a gentle rain dawneth
and giveth life unto the earth.
anew, the aqueous offerings!
o how nightly wonders
are but the eidolon of beauty,
the paragon of grandeur.
‘tis oft i roam
the terrain so dark and calm
of jovial mien, allur’d
by the starry plane above.
and think most profoundly
on the coming morrow
when departs dian
upon the arrival of apollo.
thereat awakening the many a soul
of their repose,
and the day’s concomitant joys and woes.
bathing the land in a burnished glow.
tho’ in study will be i
‘mid texts of prose and rhyme.
and with wont eye
mark the passage of time,
till cometh once more
the beauteous night.

Where th' water 's not opposed, th' water flows.
Where understanding 's opaque, frustration grows.
Where ignorance resides, hatred shares its abode.
Where dishonesty respites, malice lies too.

Where th' voice remains unheard, what good are their words?
Where th' voice remains unchallenged, what 's e'er learned?
Where force triumphs o'er fact, 'tis truth that falls first.
Where truth no longer thrives, falsity 's th' victor.

Where fear supplants courage, nigh are th' darkest days.
Where justice wilts and withers, 'tis th' innocent that pay.
Where vengeance wins th' mind and heart, with haste peace decays.
Where peace 's fated to perish, th' stench of war pervades.

Thus, reader, let 't be you who heeds this writ;
Who remedies the world's defects;
Who restores Good where Good 's spent;
Who bears th' light to illume th' darkness;

Who brings change where change 's due.

O Dreams interred of erstwhile youth
Befallen by th' ills of time's passage.
I, ere a soul of bountiful mirth,
Am now but confined to a crestfallen existence.
And tho' memories remain of ****** Earth
Once I deemed my environs.
Gone now 's the unspoiled nature
And th' merriment of juvenile innocence.
Yet, with each dawn's ascent,
Whether the heavens are marked by ashen or azure,
What remains of felicity 's not spent.
So long as I have thee, my sweet beloved,
Til life's ineluctable end.

Spent not are the voices of the by-gone poets.
Interred not by earth profound.
Transgressed not by time’s incessant passage.
The verse ere marked by the plume of the pensive;
The ludic; the bereavéd,
All sustenance for the spirit creative.
Muses of the writers of modern age.
O art unassailable, tongue primordial, light of radiance eternal,
Bulwark ‘fore the chaos of a decadent world.
So transcends the poet’s writ the maxims of the kosmos;
Our ephemeral existence molded by stricture.
That which comes of the pen—
Embodiment of the amiable, and the embittered;
The opaque, and the transparent;
The leaden, and the gossamer;
The facile, and the onerous.
Oh Maestro del Verso, with thy ink and thy pinion
Art thou edifier of universes, of languages, of conscience;
Porter of tidings; bearer of wisdom and welter;
The stones that impede the tumultuous seas;
The safeguard mid the tempest coming.
Thy hands, they bid the wan and wax of Luna and Sol;
Thy mind, the river’s very ebbs and flows;
Thy song, the harvests’ bountiful growth.
Thy *****, the rains' arrival and repose.

Yea, poet, go on!
Progenitor of worlds,
Master of thy creation.

When in ken of amorous forthcoming,
And witness bears the heart
To love’s fair presence, doth life
Seem to grow of woes surcease,
And restoréd is joy whither
Joy was once spent.

But if subject to the throes of misfortune,
And love remains afar and elusive,
How the breadth of ire, of scorn, of envy
Befall the erstwhile ardent *****.

So oft I think on future’s givings,
So oft I ponder these undying questions—
Will I come to embrace my king or queen?
Or suffer e’ermore by Cupid’s absence?

The answers, I suppose, Time will bring,
And perhaps, I will find happiness forgotten.
Though, for now here I sit and hark the dove sing
And these verses write that my mood betoken.

I hearken the air,
This splendid air
That issues of thy lute.

How thy gossamer touch
Betokens thy love
Hast thou for this
Beauteous tune.

Come weal or woe,
Selene or Sol,
These notes are
My physic—
Ay, ‘tis true.

Thusly, cease not,
And continue to pluck
The strings of thy
Delicate lute.

How shall I to thee confess my love?
Gift thee divers roses and doves?
Regale thee ‘til cometh dawn?
Enchant thee with amorous song?
Thou art my physic
That heals the wounds of Cupid’s absence;
That remedies the soul anguished
Sans joy and passion.
E’en in fate withered
Thy beauty shall remain unblemished.
Yet doth the beauteous rose e’en perish.
Its petals ere burning red,
Ravagéd by eternal earth.
So too wilt thou be spoiled by Death.
So too will the agéd hands of Chronos
Pluck the tresses of thy head, ere burning red,
Just as the leaves of the flower.
Though in *****, e’erlasting thou liv’st,
Untouched by time’s misfortunes.
Nor present nor future
Shall o’ertake thy features
As within mine heart, thou art fore’er.
Now cease I, for at hindmost of writ we come,
And again, as regards my question, I bid thy tongue
O bearer of my fancy, how shall I to thee confess my love?
May ‘t start with th’ three above.

your flesh—
tincture of
the swan’s
plumage—
phantasm-blanc.
your eyes—
suave-ciel
like the pleasant
waters of
crete.
your hair—
gilded
gossamer
strands
like the
aurum
silk of
cambodia.
your brow—
grace
delicacy
incarnate—
like the
brushstrokes of
hiroshige.