Little boy: patience, or, at least let yourself be. You don’t see the angels loving you, the humble intricacies of your snowflake, the mountain you pirouette from. I admonish you: love yourself, still, only if it be thine will, lest you deprive the least of your lovers of a tittle of your jot. Nurture yourself, breathe, grow, should it suit you. The bright Devil burns, still not yet God.
Category: Poems
-
-
Art is a gift, something intricate — oh, stark something.
Bitter Pith
–––––––
-
It hurts my feelings, this lump of heart and soul, eons in the making, gathering together my humanity into something presentable only to have you taking it with a grain of salt, being skeptical, doubting, and awaiting proof.
-
I withdraw to my hearth confident all have fires within, this public thing notwithstanding.
Hermit
–––––––
-
Wind weaves through my wheat, sun–touched, tender nubs heavy with grain lifting up to the sky. They bask. Would your giant hand brush through them, feel their thoughtless, supple stipples bounce upon your flesh before they burn brittle? Just whim and I gasp as your nails unearth the moist crumbles of my cake. Fallow me easily as deep as an entire man.
Whole Grain
–––––––
-
My hoops, untouched and so taken, dizzy and swaying, rejoice as your arrow rushes through, home at last.
Threaded
–––––––
-
A sobering realization to hear “enough” from my own lips once so desirous to devour a guilty swallow of enchantment you so easily weave: intricate and vast — beyond what I can see — interconnected waves, ringing, ringing, washing over, flooding me. To have you see me turn my gaze from your majesty: I can't bear to witness it. Then, to live on remembering I could not contain your beauty, could not contain, for an instant in my memory, the mellifluous image you constantly alight upon the world: my sorrow my mirror reflects darkly. My belly is full of beauty: full, only with a meager portion of your infinity. Have I done anything?
Love’s Labors Lost
–––––––
-
Remove the label I’ve plied so much fuss and fret into, appealing to the masses. Unwrap the darkest bittersweet encased in shiny packaging. All it wants is to be gently warmed and melted in milk.
Chocolate Cravings
–––––––
-
When the trees’ silhouettes stand against the night sky with just the stars peering back through time, it is a long, lone wait. When wind blows and rushes through every leaf, who knows whence it comes and whither it goes? There is a higher power, I suppose.
Standing By
–––––––
-
My ripe vegetation yearns, awaiting you, my barren earth now lush, heavy with moisture. My meadow contemplates how much is yours. My lips’ gentle smile anticipates its creator.
On The Vine
–––––––