Loneliness Kills

Loneliness Kills

The heart’s an aching thing; like anything,

It seeks the music of another beat;

The echo of its own leaves its own sting

Where brokenness and loneliness then meet.

You are alone. You feel it in your bones

That none can feel the pulse beneath the stone;

Yet, you’re alone. Is there a beauty there?

Where is it hidden? Here, among these tears?

The silence stresses death aloud to sight

The emptiness that every ember earns

And, with a breath as frigid as its fright,

Sends to a form of smoke this flame that burned.

I seek the beauty of my loneliness,

Yet the heart dies where darkness finds its bliss.

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Innocence

Innocence

How fallen must we beings be when Devils

Can, with a whisper, render death in levels.

There is a rank to death and those deserved,

Where not by rank are others fairly killed

But by the evil made in incant’d words.

Look upon thyself: How like him art thou?

Him, the proud and hateful of creation

That cursed man for but clay before fire’s glow

And was cursed after, testing our temptation.

The blood of men’s hands nestle eons-long,

But starts with vanity and the pride willed

That do all but separate us from wrong.

Dost thou then honor life in hatred’s ilk

When reaping based no more than hues of silk?

The Cloud’s Pink Hue

The Cloud’s Pink Hue

Love is the color that comes o’er the sky

When day sees night’s birth and night sees day die.

The Sun’s paint fading in the cloth of saints,

A purity of love purely aglow;

It shines in hearts endowed with lover’s paint

And covers eyes with the sky’s covered show

With day’s last breaths and with light’s final faint.

Beauty, and yet all things die a day come,

Even beauty; love fades to nighttime’s song,

Reaped rightfully as life demands in sum –

As love even proclaims its days’ length wrong –

And so floats the pink cloud with its last hum.

And yet, beyond the night, love comes again,

In both the worldly life and patient pen.

The Eye

The Eye

Have

You   ever

Really     thought

About            eyes?

What                 souls

Do they                   contain?

Indeed,                     they shine

When struck                                     in love

And fill                                       with tears

When sadness                          is provoked.

What are           …The Eye.             our souls?

What’s                                             yours?

That which                               beholds

Beauty                            and light

And life                    and cries

Upon being         but a human.

To see         other’s souls

In their               irises

And love each other:

That is…

The Reed in the River

The Reed in the River

The calm buzz

sets off this:

flowing mind

that matches

flowing stream.

I sit here,

watch the reed

in between

the small waves.

Bends and bends –

always bends,

but never

does it break.

The stream follows no laws, pushing along

With the clouds as its only rivalry.

There is something beautiful, sitting here

And watching with nothing but watchful eyes

At the stubborn reed and the mighty stream.

The Stars

The Stars

I have beheld the stars:

They are beautiful, beyond comprehension.

I wonder how they feel

Watching us from so high?

I do not think them as judges

But wonderful friends in the sky.

Indeed, when I look upon them

On a lone night with a large moon

And a clear sky,

I find often that they smile down on me,

And the last thing I feel

Is alone.

Beautiful Angel

Beautiful Angel

Bright dost thou shine: what dare shines brighter hence?

Evade the darkness, for its skin is dense.

A morning sun from ocean’s bed doth lie

Under thee in rank of beautiful things;

‘Tis vain to think else, such that th’even sky

Illuminates no mournful that which thou dost bring,

Fulfilling when thou dost close thine eyes.

Unsated – damn thee, lust! – am I thus curs’d

Love’s whipping doll in face of thee, sweet dame;

Art thou the East and West; the Sun’s birth and Moon’s hearse?

Nay, I dare not speak little of thy name,

Grown in Elysium, christened in verse.

Evade the darkness, angel! It is vile;

Love best makes shadows little more than bile.