Pt.1
In the clouds that hang aloft
Whose very presence
Is whimsical, soft
Virginity dented, blotted
In the bluest eye,
A hand of breeze ushers on and
Whispers “good-bye.”
The hands of time
Their blithe brushstrokes
On sandy bricks
Their faults provoke,
The brushstrokes, too, there, paint the sky,
Like skirts of red ‘round trunks they lie
Like leaf, like stone
Fall affords no cure for doubt
So like the golden dust, once leaves of green
Into the wind, both spitted out
Were spurned, their haughty wails of “why”
By the hand of breeze that ushers on
With calming whispers of “good-bye.”
Pt.2
There I am, from here I sit,
In cluster leaves on far tree tips.
The hand of breeze keeps me fast
In this fray, the winter’s blast,
Despite that I have braved the cold
The buds of Spring soon, too, unfold
For the young, the leaves will fall
And never will it had been
That it, or I, was there at all.
Pt.3
Wait for me at the garden’s edge
Among the hoods of waking life
Bound n’er so tightly
As a husband to a wife
Wait for me, and still so young
Indelible silence aft’ the ring that rung
I’ll wait for you in the lasting day
Departing me, that is my pledge
Here, alone, at the garden’s edge,
‘Till wilts the corridor
Of snow-capped hedge
And the hills have capped
The fair sun’s head.
Still sweet the air, in twilit vine,
Each rippen’d petal a fortunate sign
That she, oh, she,
Will dance with me at the garden’s edge
Where we both drink of the other’s wine.
Each day, a perfumed past,
That smell of the rose twine her hair
That left us both in the garden, bare,
The only shawl a blazing star.
Worry not, my garden rose,
The sun may die, but from one,
From us two,
Many flow’rs shall dot the sky
And under their lamps, the pallor hue
I’ll give the rose, gift to me, with many stars back to you.
Pt. 4
But soft! I hear
Amidst the cries that fall anon
From the blanket midnight sky
That you’re aloft and gone from me,
From the darkness, through the vines
And gone like the seconds of passing time
With haughty ******
The hands that twist
From night to night
Which, brazen, explode the starry high
The hands that usher, chant “change, but why?”
All that hisses from my lungs
Is one long solemn, final “good-bye.”
