The night holds no sway over me,
for I am darker by double
the darkest of night shadows.
This heart has come to no other
purpose than to prolong life,
having years before given over
any love, belief, good ambition.
Wail as you might, night winds,
rage against this hardened heart,
for it shall no longer be moved
to fear nor to cater to hope.

Apparently the encoaching winter
has put me in a darker mood.

Neutral seems
to be the sum of
all my colors - any color,
any combination - no matter
what I mix on this diminishing
palette called my remaining years,
all that emerges is futility
and grayness. Is
this what my life
has become?

–

The sleet
falls harsher,
colder than
I've experienced.
The morning's color is no longer
color, simply achromatic, and
my heart warms neither
to this canvas, nor the
brushes, nor to her
smile, not even
to the dog.

–

**** this bitter dusk!
Shadows of my death gather
about me, torment me.
Ah, these waning years -
the good years disappear
and what was once sweet,
turns bittersweet, then sour.
Only memories remain
of all those shameful years
and memories have become
a caustic and hated bile.
**** this bitter dusk!

--

Fearsome dream: I'm cocooned below, facing heavenward,
          but my face no longer senses nor melts
the frozen snowflakes that once were my pleasure.
          Now those flakes swirl aimlessly, unfelt in the blue-black
uncaring night of winter, barely touching my grave,
blown about by the frigid January wind  -
          dead to those sensations, I lay hard, cold, slowly rotting.

--

Oh spring,
if you were but mortal,
or better yet, that I

was the May breeze,
you and I could make
such passionate love,

for I have long been
enamored by you.
Like loving fingers

through cascading hair,
I would weave magic
in your meadow grasses

and flowering trees.
I would move over your
greening landscapes

with a most ardent touch
and spread the intoxicating
fragrance of your

blossoms as a priceless
perfume for the only
one I could ever truly love.

I would caress your
billowing clouds, ferrying
them gently about, and

we would lie naked upon
their undulating waves
and allow the sun to warm us.

God, what a dreamer! What
a spell spring has cast.
Oh, if I were but the breeze.

Another spring poem I thought
I would put before you -
perhaps bring some warmth into
the reading

---

The breeze carries magic
on this flourishing spring morn,
with the scent of lilacs inspiring
memories of golden days and
long lavender nights with you.
How long ago has it been
when in the depth of innocence,
of youthful lust that current
of something crystal clear
and sweet coursed through me
with each thought of you?
Closing my eyes, you are here
beside me, vibrant and utterly
charged with sensuality, and
just as easily, you are diminished,
like the promise of my life.

Obviously not spring now, but
a poem I started then and finished
today

--