Words of a predictable mind

oh poet, my dear poet,
my sometime friend,
my forever lover.
why are your roses,
once raging with beauty,
now raging, and
raging still,
in silent mockery?

oh sage, my sweet soothsayer,
my sometime friend,
my forever lover.
a thousand apologies will bleed
for the flame of forgiveness
to scorch this cold heart.

we both yearn, yes, I know
for those same roses that raged
in stormy caressess. ...

she, for whom a pedestal was built,
for the known and unknown, that which gathers
the laments of lovers. she, for whom light
was meant to falter in yet glorify at once,
she is this and that, yet never these.

she, for whom thousands marched unflinching,
where every laden step speaks of faith,
that which leaden arms beckon, offerings
of love, of piety, of the humblest humility,
she is and is not, yet never was.

she, for whom ...

I would not want to dream
of new beginnings, new facets
not while this pen writhes.
I would not want to hope
these shackles that bind
not when trees are felled
not when leaves dance anew.
I would not want to try
this pen and paper entreats
not if you still stand there
with empty eyes and empty hands.


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