Beauty carved in face of marble

Traces elegant ivory curves

Scent of a bed of honey

Spun silk through my nerves.

Fires in her milky eyes

Fueled by malintent

Hours spent in suffocation

From the seconds spent.

Nails that dig into my back

And linger for days gone past

Bites that mark her gentle grasp

And fade when they should last.

Her taste that fills my open mouth

And trickles down my chin

The hunger that ceases not

That rises from within.

The hands that hold

My simple heart

Her lips that whisper still

The words which tear us apart

And yet give me my fill.

I’ve said best friend too oft

A phrase given of drifters,

Bright lights that quickly faded.

Cast aside, yet ne’er forgotten

She waited by my side,

Always there to put me first.

She helped me see my foolishness,

My stubborn drunken pride,

Born of sleeplessness, not wine.

She stands here still

While others care to part

Shifting seasons, remorse and farewell.

A monument to friendship

Dedication divine,

Yet comfortable and sweet.

Now she brings a child forth,

A light within her womb

A candle to the darkened sky.

A touch of poverty and sorrow

Rest upon your head

Yet nary a tear spoils your heart.

Kindness weaved like crocheted love,

Threads of silken charity

Intermingled with latent shine.

Clothe the world with thy wisdom,

As you once clothed my neck

With the warmth of a scarf.

Her words were foreign

Drenched in eloquence befitting a queen.

Her lips, soft as silk

Moved provocatively in rhythm,

Pale red flowers opening,

Covered in dew.

Her hands were treasonous,

Treachery deep as canyon passes,

Leading me to sin

As an accomplice to her shame.

Her eyes, darkened earth

Penetrate my hardened heart

And fertile shoots entangle such.

Her hair, my hangman’s noose

A hammock for all my thoughts

A final rest. 

She was my pebble,

Fruity and as colorful

As a rainbow smile.

In autumn’s breath I find

My leaves half-stirred now rest

The words which whispered of our days

Flow quickly from the west.

Though stripped of caution’s voice I rise

To answer thee in pen

Then fall to sleep upon the gaze

Till winter’s come again.

Then I awake in frozen field

Of muted sound and snow,

To trace our past within my tracks

Where you may never go.

Till frost doth bite upon my heels

And cry for bitter end

Till I shall see thy face in stars

Yet never call you “friend.”

Blinded by tear soaked eyes

I fail to see the tunnel’s end.

Its clever rolls yet underlie

And fold within.

The hollowed echoes vaguely glace

And brush my fragile skin,

While unsupported rants

Tear out and bleed from pen.

The strokes of vandalism gaze

Petrified as stone

Weakly reaching out to raze

And crack my vacant bones.

Yet failing that they fall

Each to recommend

That which once was gall

Drunk in thirst I cannot mend.

Auburn hair as setting sun
Seems a fitting touch
Of flames reflected
In her earthen eyes.

Peace sought brazenly in ashes
Of softly coated words
Uncertain in appeal
Yet full of meaning.

Brittle branches break
The wilted shades of north
Gently shone in thread of rain
Within the drought of hue.

She speaks in silence
Rebellious to a fault
Imposed presence of thought
A veritable feast.

Of which I refrain to know
Sight which I am blind
Notions unmet and worthless
A plea unheard has fled.

Till dawn shall come
Bid me rest no more.

Sometimes it’s the music that calms me,

The sound of her voice,

Weaving words as silken threads,

Crisscrossed across my mind.

Other times it’s the books,

Piled high,

A fortress and salve to my heart,

Passages wrought with broken pen.

Oft it is the trees, a forest on high,

Refuge deep and dark

Unprincipled gathering of hearth,

A home without the rain.

Then there is the storm,

Unnaturally calm,

Loud enough to drown my tears,

Soft enough to keep away.

The ocean waves.

Hear their whispers,

Patterns of rhythm in time,

Aching to reach the shore.

All are but poems,

Each restrained verse,

Harmonies broken, observed, diverse.

Though always repeated,

Never secure,

Of the lines and stanzas,

You can be sure.

For each eager sentence,

Vaguely arranged,

Desperate plea, cunningly estranged,

Is a cry, for naught but peace.

Words pristine, yet dull

Unproposed turn of phase

Captive inception

Thoughts, desires held at bay.

An anxious heart, silent rest.