A Shooting Star

A Shooting Star                          October 24, 2013

A shooting star was extinguish'd in Life
If only that were to be the Truth,

For the sweet little girl shall ne'er die
So long as we shall remain alive.

The sands of time descend'd 'pon her flesh

And hath pass'd unto Eternity's abode,

For only then she hath exit'd Stage Right
Of Life's melodramatic cast upon this night.

And the sweet little girl could only smile

When Humanity was amid her eyes;
A humor so infectious, and countenance, fair,
And she hath spread her spirit abroad!
Lo'! How I do wonder how it be so!  

She ne'er shed a single tear in fear
Of existing post mortem away from here
And her family she held dear;

Of this, did she ever listen to the fear?

A world shall always hold your candle,
Always lit fresh, each and ev'ryday; and

God hath set you by His side

As you break a piece of His bread.

And so, my dear, sweet little girl,
How we shall ne'er bid thee farewell!

For the time shall come when all will sing;

Herald'd as angels amid your eyes!

A Babe's Discontent

A Babe's Discontent                       July 30, 2008 (Revised October 18, 2013)

As he dies in her eyes, the angels wail,

The gray clouds explode from Hell,
Shooting rainy bullets, so deadly,
Upon her first newborn babe.
Lovers will unite 'cross wayward seas,
Yet a dam barricades the mum,
Separating her from her babe;
The babe, angst-ridden, cannot reach, see,
And the mum appears blind, happy
Sans her firstborn babe nestl'd
Against her bosom which begat Life.

Cart'd off to a mental jungle, a frenzy,
The babe is told it disappoints all

O'er speakers so loud, so vibrant, yet bleak,
'Tis infinite if you only knew o' its reach.

The babe is but a mere wretch
Amid a mysterious wild a-fire,

Manifesting head, which begets snow,
And so too arrives Prophesy
And her seasons, total'd in four:

Little will he know the fruits winter bears.

Seasons pass as doth the pages o' a calendar;
The babe, now a man, must tarry onward.
Full o' life, still young at heart; and
The mother doth bear the brunt of their wrath;
Gray she be, the clock strikes Midnight,

And Father Time's hand doth grab
Her soul's clammy hands; 'tis Death.

Let it be time for all seasons to pass,

For the man and his posterity sail the skies! 

Shooting Stars

Shooting Stars                  September 24, 2008 (Revised October 18, 2013)

Across the amber waves o' wheat,

You may see Dick and Jane run;
Across many miles amid their smiles,
And they laugh, always having fun.
And what of these prognosticators
Who would kill that vivacious love?
Their spirits shall be shown the path
Towards Hell from Heaven Above.

Lovers whimsically delight'd; and
Lo'! How they shine 'neath a starry sky,

For t'was foretold once 'pon a time
They shall dance till the day they die.

One wrought 'pon the smile of the other,
And how they laugh'd all the while!
Across the fruit'd landscapes;

Only Jealousy shall be in denial!

'Tis two lovers, lost amid a wilderness,
Ne'er set 'pon a path; always a-flex'd;
No blades to split them 'part for day,

And I wonder what kind o' love
The world has, 'tis so blind, and yet
They are but two souls, sailing the skies
Like shooting stars amid the night light!

And a tussle in the grasses
And the heat hath spread.
Lightning bugs herald their anthem;

Two loves in Nature's bed.
Life shall march its soldiers unto glory!

Ne'er shall it be disturb'd; and
Ne'er shall its light be dimm'd.

One Gun Shy of Life

One Gun Shy of Life                 November 1, 2008 (Edited October 18, 2013)

As I stare down His barrel,

A lifetime flies unto Eternity
'Fore it speaks of its peace.
O'! But the gun hath said
There shall be no such thing,
That life cannot exist

Now that sociopath
Rap'd you, but so slow; and
Exuding a curse 'pon you
Un visuel de la mort.
With his racing cap, and
A resolve, empty, sans morale,
He had only within his soul
To feign a threat so dire,
Calling me "thus and such"

Over and again; so that
He may abscond with the money:
To run towards a Lone Star luau.

O'! That gun owns me now,
For I hath not a clue how.
The natives, restless; and
Always the wildebeests they be;
Are busy amid their slot machines,
Winning t'all times o'er me. 

They pull the levers, I do not see;
And I am bleeding; my scarlet flows,
And yet 'tis far deeper, yes,

So much bleaker, and I am to die?
Ev'ryday is not God's play date,

Yet Death is my twin bill, my check;
Paying my way to his river daily,
For I am but one gun shy of life, and I
Shall ne'er again see my soul 

Nor the day cometh The Light.

Dreamer

Dreamer                          January 27, 2007 (Revised October 18, 2013)

Duermo todo el día en directo;
'Tis for you, Blue; 'tis bad Spanish
For no particular reason t'all.
O'! I can see things so clearly
When I am awake in my slumbers;
O'! I can see things very well,
Enough to inquire if It is The Grail;
Enough to cry foul 'pon the le faux bois;
And yet you say I am but a dreamer;
Ergo, I am but Liturgy's misfit.

'Tis sinful to speak of a day in time
When the dream doth fly as the time sails,
When mothers smile, the children play,
When we each may grow old
With our lover till we are gray.
O'! I can see things so clearly now
Amid my unconscious expanding mind.
The sun ne'er sets nor the rooster crows
For I can see all so clearly well;
And yet I am but a dreamer; 'tis a sin,
And I am relegat'd to the Holy Roller's jail.

O'! Siddhartha! Where art thou?
Are we to reach Nirvana sans losing our grip?
Will we see The Light? Our spirits be free?
Shall we agree to disagree, only to agree?
What is a world t'were it not for its gods?
Would we sit and ponder life's odds?
What if The Bible is at odds with us?
What if it is that and a material manifest?
Could we then be free to abscond in absentia?
Criticize me if you dare! O' Wick'd Monstrosity!
For I shall grin, say, "I am a dreamer!"

Lovers sail amid her high blue seas;
Gods live atop mounts, clouds above trees.
What is matter and shall it be call'd God?
What is the meaning? Why so odd?
Why do I inquire what is on stone?
Am I but a sinner, just black to the bone?
Is Jesus My Reason, the season, that?
What is to happen if I call the pastor and that?
Am I a heathen? Shall you call me a fool?
Or am I a dreamer questioning The Golden Rule?

I seek a New World where I am to be free;
No ties to bind, and I may fly with wings
As if doves amid the heavens, her angelic choir,
And a god who serves me, ne'vr hold me to a wire.
If not for me, no deities could exist; and
Yet I am inform'd I must live beneath His Fist.
'Tis all so bizarre, we art borne of sin,
Despite all I do to be good again; and still again!
Why alienate souls who inquire You of Truth?
Is it a crime to hold ardors for a sleuth?
Serve me well! For I keep thee alive!
For if not this dreamer, you shall ne'vr survive!

Glasses (An exercise in mindfulness)

Glasses (An exercise in mindfulness)

   November 20, 2008 (Revised October 17, 2013)

Holding the ear piece is ecstasy
As I rub the smooth metal, her groove.
Blindness, unfortunately, the main foe;

For at this time, the researcher
Hath not the major tool of his nose
Till now, 'pon which the time past
Collides with the future, apparent, uncertain;

For now, the test of the nose pieces
Proves to be most steadfast in countenance,

Preventing the body from denouement.
A certain lukewarmness besets them

From the intercourse with the nose,

And the researcher thinks himself a pervert.

'Fore stat'd, Vision supplants blindness,

And doth so oft, in so many ways.
'Fore he plac'd his glasses 'pon his head,

His eyes had lied to him,

Lying about the world, what beheld.

Now, he may witness Truth

And her infinite sibling, Wisdom;

Even comprehending subtler points

Of celibate, amorous seduction.

Cannibals East

Cannibals East                November 20, 2008 (Revised October 17, 2013)

Amid the murky depths 
Of Mother Russia's steppes,
The people starv'd, many died;
Desirous of dirt if they could,
If only t'were not for the snow.
Temperatures -31 Celsius,
The butchery surround'd;
T'was all out of sight,
And one could only sense
That more than carbon dioxide
Left the lungs with each breath.

Those German troglodytes 
Tore ev'ry last shred
Of the flesh 'pon which
The vodka had fill'd; tho'
When Mother Russia held firm,
She slic'd the Huns at the balls,
And they ne'er again wrought
Another krystallnacht 'pon t'all.

T'was this eastward land of intrigue
Once rul'd of Muscovite tsars
That slaughter morph'd into
A bloody beef stroganoff.
T'were the cannibals
Of these frozen hinterlands
Kiss'd upon their chalky white lips
In celebration of each dead Hun,
Tho' not so much in the name of love.
T'was the taste of pouring scarlet
Emanating from their lips,
Whose tongues were clipp'd:
T'were the cossacks' wrath.

It might have been 1942,
But t'were cossacks amid them,
For t'were only 130 years past
Since the last grande armee froze.
The death, disaster, the macabre
Ne'er prov'd to be such a drag,
But for the Huns and the Rus,
It meant the world's posterity.

The Dying

The Dying                 May 26, 2007 (Revised October 16, 2013)

A face of consternation
Stemming from alienation,
And I lie down 'pon
 The base of the mount

To view the shiny stars,

Some shooting, others not;
And through this, tho',

I am sans a single care

Save for the pressures

Consuming my blacken'd heart.

I thought I might perish,

And I do not think I would care,
For may one truly feel alive
Upon the maggots, hungry,
Feasting 'pon him?
Whatever, so I shall claim;

I think I may well be,
As with all the fish
Swimming within the sea.

This world is hardly worthwhile
As a place to reside for me.

No pulse, and I shall not
Rotate that dial;

Let nature run its course,
For I am just rank and file.
All I care is to be free,
And whilst here, I shall never be.
Lock down! Land Ho!

And 'tis the punisher

With his instruments of torture
To take my life,
But I feel he may see
That within me; for
All he must do, you see,
Is to simply leave me be.

He shall never need to flog me.
My flesh is the ultimate pain.

Moments spent dying
Whilst I gasp for air, 
Thy nerves tremor;
And yet, the world
Hath the balls to say
I am nothing else
But a hypochondriac!

There are no rhymes
Nor intelligible reasoning
To think this to be
 A happy season for me
When ev'ry moment is really
A locust storm to commiserate,
Biblical in proportion.

Sure, I have slic'd thrice
My left arm 'fore; and
Bled myself a bit of scarlet
Till her fibrin dried,

But then some wounds
Shall never heal, friend,
And I shall never do so
 Till the Kingdom Come.
'Tis the deal, my friends!
'Tis the deal, you see?

For I consider The Dealer to be
The real bad guy, c'est vrai!

If Florida was a Woman

If Florida was a Woman    Written Spring/Summer 2002 (Revised October 16, 2013

If Florida was a woman, I would be hard as rock:
Hotter than the sun, any man on Earth.
Never do I look forward to a good sweat
As I do 'pon her shooting rays

Attacking my fleshy armaments
Safely harboring all about me which is vital.

Yesterday, I dropp'd to her sandy floor
To indulge 'pon some of her sweet nectar:
Among these, Nature's finest crystal granules,
Rolling about as if an alligator in heat.
As I am but a soul from cold Tennessee,
I shall file for adoption, for my Florida mater,

As she is the womb my throbbing rooster seeks,
And I shall only endeavor as a true glutton would.
O'! How I am so hot for her! That Florida!
She must have felt each drop of my sweat:

Tasting the salty flavor of which it consists,
And ravaging my hard, erect body!

En fuego, bebe!

She must have, for I have never seen nor been
With a woman so wet, so moist, wanting to bequeath

Her love, her passion, and unleash'd unto me
The wildebeest within her soul, and she attack'd!

Thus, I was only too pleasur'd to dive inside
Her womb, her bed of tropical life,
For whilst the little fishes swim 'round,
We commenc'd amid sin, and tho' t'was pleasurable,

We scream'd cries of ecstasy, her scratching my back,
And I? Thrusting forward, penetrating her folds, pink;

Her palms, clammy; consumed with perspiration;

How they shone so brightly; the bay so green,
And I wonder if she is as jealous of me as I her,
For I have but only one lover,
While pleasures many millions with her scores.

Let me be a sea gull!

Let me be a sea gull!

Leave me be!

Leave me be!

I never desire to leave Florida's arms,

And she never wishes for me to depart.

If Florida was a woman,

I would never leave,

But I would always gladly come.

Magister

Magister           May 15, 2005 (Revised October 16, 2013)

Magister: Latin for "teacher"

Remember, my friend, those times past
When we boys and girls let our childhoods fly
In your presence, in the glimmer of your eyes?

Remember standing before young audiences
On your pulpit, teaching of the instances,
Of what is, what is not, and what shall forever be?

And do you recall preaching to the youth much
Of your life's experiences: the good, bad, and such,
And teaching to us: 'Tis all the price we pay to be free?

Well I remember those times so well,
And I have many a story for you to tell.
You and I have such a bond, magister,

For you taught me to reach for dreams, to dare.
There shall come a time to fold wings, to fly away,
But my memories of you shall never wander astray.
O' Magister! How I shall remember you each day!

Do you still recall how I fell on my knees,

So long in direction, near my care sans keys,

When I thought I had simply nothing left?

Do you recall the caring words you expressed
To me, an emphasis upon the import, you impressed,
And you assisted in the reawakening of my dead spirit?

Remember when all these moments occurred,
Whether they were said or acted upon by written word?

O! I do, Magister! You mean so much to me!

How Many Lonely Nights Shall I Face Amid Your Darkness?

How Many Lonely Nights Shall I Face Amid Your Darkness?
January 28, 2007 (Revised October 16, 2013)

I never knew 'till sunset
The definition of Night
Till I lost the ability
To close thy eyes.
'Tis far darker
Than it doth appear;
'Tis all so opaque,
For sometimes one
May consider a night sky
Wanton of the existence
Of a shooting star.
Yet, I am amid a sojourn
For a fortnight, longer;
And I now may admit,
Free and unfettered,
I now am sentient 'pon
The sun setting unto Night.

'Tis times I wonder 
What it is to be in life
When the lights are out,
The skies darken'd;
The mind, restless
Till it appears to be barren,
For t'will be nothing for it
To rest upon, 'tis my fear.
They measure my mind
Amid scales at a healthy 146;
But I was aged a baker's dozen; 
T'was so long ago; and yet
I am a cerebral vagabond today
Forevermore, ad infinitum;
And I desire to learn 
If thy mind shall assimilate
With that of Our Lord, Thy God.
Shall I? Shall I ever face 
His Terrible Wrath?
Shall the morn bequeath 
'Pon a new Pax Romani?

What is life 'pon 
The death of His Light?
What shall happen 'pon 
The death of the Universe's breath?
Doth you still color Night navy blue
Rather than paltry and opaqu'd Black?
What, pray tell, is akin 
To Life regarding Normalcy!
What is your Knowledge of Truth
Amid the night skies opaque,
Of when the seas doth mingle in
A tryst with her billow'd clouds?
Am I to gain a simple grasp
Of Matter's complexities, origins?
How many more lonely nights
Shall I breathe the same air as today?
Am I destin'd to slumber amid
The moonlit auspices o'er the bay?

'Tis getting very exhaustive, 
This perpetuating nuit de la solitude;
'Tis a path arduous, 
T'will never slow for my mind to rest.
The ambiance is hazy; 
'Tis the acquistion of age, cantankery
As I have arriv'd 'pon the doorsteps
 Of a quarter-century's age.
Come now, Ides of June!
 Shall I remain'd humbl'd, lost, astray?
Shall I permit my mind to wander 
To the isle of St. Helena
Amid the undulating of guards
Descriptive of the Atlantic?
I feel you, O' Bonaparte!
'Tis a life begot to self-loathe
When the lights die and
The One 'tis not home;
I shall forevermore grieve
Till Sisyphus' night ceases!

Hades' Descent

 Hades' Descent               March 2, 2007 (Revised October 15, 2013)

If only the fair Judge and Juror were so kind,
Both shall remove me from the daily grind.
Allow me to abscond from this life, si vous plait?
Allow me to sail the blue skies to a level greater
Than this pestilence o' the heart:
'Tis Hades' descent, and I shall wail.

If only I could rub the lamp,
Perhaps my life shan't be so sad;
I might not feel as if a hell bound heathen,
Tho' it might be a slight more arousing.
I may laugh, tho', if nothing else
Than be expos'd to a mirth-fill'd world.
'Tis Hades' descent; 'tis all I know,
And forevermore shall I fall from Grace.

O' Cry for me a river, for I cannot!
I can see no life for me; no posterity,
And people cackle whilst you bow, cry,
And God only knows when you shall die.
In materialism, I may be but a gray spittoon:
Wanton of even the rich essence of brass.
Hades' descent; 'tis the Golden Rule.
I shall forever sip 'pon my flask.

Weeping willows during a storm.
I cannot seem to shirk the images
Of a place bereft of a trail to run, to hide.
'Tis a fait accompli; I shall accept Fate:
A pitchfork stabbing me in the heart, whilst
The blood pours into the Grecian Urn:
'Tis Hades' descent, 'tis all, yet no more.

The Expansion of My Stream of Consciousness

The Expansion of My Stream of Consciouness   March 30, 2007 (Revised October 15,2013)

On flight from the bastion of common knowledge
Towards the astral plains of the linear esoteric:
I am en route to the ultimate destination,
The road dividing into a fork of two prongs;
And oft I am inform'd I must decide 'pon one
Or if the other might be more apropos.
'Tis time, tho', and I shall consider all
This une grande illusion,
A place characteristic of Xanadu and Shangri-la;
A fabulosa terram of unbridl'd enchantment
And supernatural in its exquisite splendors:
'Tis this realm in which I am to assimilate
With the ires et natura fati; to retire from humanity.

I consider the exterior of Pandora's Box,
Deciding 'tis simply tomfoolery to determine
Either the left or right; 'tis a dichotomy, too shallow;
And t'will relegate my sojourn towards Enlightenment
Towards the banes of Impotence and Obsolescence.
'Tis justice we must all seek; and yet that justice
Is perhaps the great mystery we may ever encounter;
'Tis then the middle: an unblaz'd trail of earth
 Breathing the l'air de pureté of our precious Gaea
Amid my wonders and wandering in the valley
Mystery bequeath'd to the nature of mankind.
I ask her if I shall be rendered to a state of redundancy
Amid my despair post camping in the Elysian field
Whilst pitching my tent du jour everyday.
She provides me with no answer nor solution;
Ergo, I shall not tread 'pon unmolest'd sacred grounds:
I shall leave them be, forevermore.

Et maintenant? Still, the heavens ignore me.
'Tis now when I realize I shall only procure enchantment
In probing my mind for answers within proper dialectics.
I sip my final drops of water originally from the mother ship
And commence sitting 'pon terra whilst mediating:
I shall engage in the unity of the soul of the flesh, me,
To the realm of metaphysics; for I am nothing else other.
Spiritually, I shall marry the soul of the soil;
I must roll in her clay and water to be baptiz'd
As I allow for myself to commune with The Source
Of all things which are to be, characteristic of those
Which are macrocosms, the expansion of the cosmos.

To Gamble with Love or Lose to Ignorance

To Gamble with Love or Lose to Ignorance     November 2, 2008 (Revised October 15, 2013)

Our world is Love; 'tis so curious;
Bound in mystique, intrigue; cloak'd by Night,
And had it proclaim'd to the woman
His everlasting love; the ardor for her he felt,
The earth might have quak'd 'pon a seismic order.

I see a women, beautiful, imbibing;
Wander along, philosophizing Existentially;
To think, tho' had I discover'd her rarity,
I might have seen Sunshine in the Nocturnal sky
'Fore I sojourn'd for the Light; to sing the blues.

For I am a creature consum'd by Curiousity;
A cat on two legs; sans the fur and purr;
For I am a man simply searching for Truth:
Could she love me? Will she ever care?
Or does she spare Thought 'pon a man as I?

A Voice spake for me to be brave;
To approach her in inquiry; to sing; carpe diem;
For It claim'd I shall never have reveal'd
What I do not ask nor choose to gamble.

Upon my walk to the lady's table; her drinking,
I consider'd carefully my diction, syntax:
For I am willing to risk and fail at Love
As oppos'd to Love and ne'er have reveal'd.

'Tis time to fly amid my wing'd friends:
Till Tomorrow, when Hope springs Love Eternal!

'Tis the Season for Dying

'Tis the Season for Dying                  November 26, 2006 (Revised October 14, 2013)

How I marvel at these gray skies, billowed;
At how the ink dries upon His bull, per Pater,
Along the line, He meaning it to demarcate
Autumn's descent into the death of Winter's grip.
The leaves hath fallen, our air bereft of pollen;
'Tis no longer the site of "V's" flying our skies.
T'will be cold for many months and more,
Till Spring arises and the sandlots are full.

Down once lush grasses of Kentucky blue,
A chill is present; we commiserate her, too,
As she penetrates the conscience of our souls,
Forever ushering, she begets the impending snows.
Footprints are akin to the blood stain'd scarlet;
For there are no rabbits available for stew.
One thing I know: 'tis a cold man's dew,
There are no rhymes nor reasons to cry blue:
'Tis another season annuatim for a winter's night:
The calendars are to die in accord at darkest's night.

Farewell Unto Eternity, President Reagan

Farewell Unto Eternity, President Reagan      Circa 2004; Revised October 14, 2013

At the sands of the hourglass descent,

Upon the clock striking midnight,

The carriage you rode victorious
Had morph'd into Jack O' Lanterns:

The magic of the breathing day
Hath descend'd into forever a night,
And yet The New Day hath dawn'd
Upon which Air Force One reach'd
The third star on the left, and you are Home.

Little Man and El Alamein guid'd you Home,

The hope you bequeath'd upon your citizens
Shall finally be known to you; and I say
Unto you, Mr. President, your people doth seek
Your spiritual guidance and humble soul
As you slip Earth's surly bonds to touch God.

Rancho del Cielo seem'd so very high
Upon your first reach towards the stars,
But now all is possible, relevant,
And you may eternally feel His Face.

Lo'! How many sadden'd faces wept upon
Their hearths for days unto nights,

And tho' we shall never forget you, Gipper,
We will recall your colloquial grace.

An American, "Dutch" by a name; and
Another mutt as is so many tend be,

But never fret, you shall surely bet
The lives you touch'd shall be free.

Maggie Thatcher hath just arriv'd;

Tea and crumpets were consum'd,
Tho' too much Scotch imbibed,

And she hath join'd your parade now,

One by Sunset, two by Trafalgar Square.

O'! Mr. President, how I hardly knew you,
For t'was too young to reconcile the polis,

For you embodied the spirit, culture, and life
Of my formative years upon which I am bereft,
And never shall I see your glamorous smile again.

Ronnie, I hardly you knew you, sir,

For I was far too young, playing with toys,

My dolls and figurines took precedent, sir,

And now, I weep upon my reflection

Of what could have been Ideologues Betrothed;
A fraternal trust between my mind and yours.

My daddy always speaks well of you,
Always with a smile and amid a sigh,
Upon his hearkening upon his life,
Our family never before prosper'd so much,

And tho' not in the spirit of polity, I declare:

Reagan! Reagan!

Shall I see your smile?
You are but many a mile
From my abode this day.

As Russian bears rattl'd swords

Upon the time we want'd accords,
You never blinked an eye 

In foolish Deference.

 Look at the suit and your fox trot to boot!

Lo'! How you shall be forever alive,

For the meek inherit the earth, they say,

For your soul was of the Illinois grain,

But I defy those who would deter
The memory of a communicator so great,

And upon further review, they are fools;

They shall be forever fools to lose.

Had his interface result'd in pixil rule,
Pac-Man would never have eaten full

His enemies, once ghosts, now idiots
Along the Leftist Rags, those press mongrels,

And Old Glory, again bereft of soul,

Calls upon a name now deceas'd in infinitum,

And yet, there is you, Mr. President, as you wave
First in the hearts of your countrymen, and
To the people you prais'd for their worth, not Sam;

Let him rest peacefully, my friends left and right,
For President Reagan shall know eternal light.

Elegy: 

Reagan! Reagan! By all means, sir,

 Shall we sing of your happy life by night
Instead those compos'd in gray?

A champion of liberty, consumed by God,

A love for America, the emoting of poise,
A nation once broken, you coalesced
Into an aristocracy of virtue and ingenuity,
The intent of our brilliant Founders;
About which the Sage of Monticello spake.
You, President Reagan, embody the Spirit of '76;
We shall never forget you, nor your countenance:
For while we are still amid mourning in America,
There shall always be for Eternity
A morning's sunrise in accordance with God.

Finis

Dancing with My Love Beneath a Moonlit Night

Dancing with My Love Beneath a Moonlit Night             October 14, 2013

PART I.

An Amorous Introduction to Our Lives’ Dance:

When thy eyes laid upon thee,

I ne’er saw a face so beautiful

As the one conjuring visions

Of a Specter yet so inconspicuous.

Tho’ thou face reflects the source 

Of my initial affections so oft’, 

Something about you seem’d 

Imbu’d with a tenant of aesthetics

I had yet to encounter in Life.

Heretofore, my Life was made;

I shall ne’er be wanton of a love

So fair, a spiritual manifest, again:

For ours is Nature’s Manure

For Life and her propagation. 

We are to ne’er lust again:

We are to lust ne’er more.

PART II.

A Toast to Thee, My Lady So Fair, 

To The Holy Spirit, in Praise to The Creator:

To our lives and the posterity thereafter:

For without the one there is not the other.

Let us drink to our nocturnal interlude

Predicated not upon Lust or Sloth,

But Love, Compassion; a Union so Holy

That t’was predestined by God -

His Manifestation so good and pure

That to love properly means to sin egregiously.

Ergo, to sin is good; ‘tis proper

If the human race is to be propagated

As it is lain solely upon the labors

Of our conjoined loins to achieve.

Between us, a new Pax Romani

May manifest; and I, a historian by trade,

May record the newest chapter of measure

Which shall bear record of the greatest import 

To the posterity of History, of Life forever.

Amen!

PART III.

My Declaration of Love, of Spiritual Bliss; Independence:

O’ Lady, a nocturnal deviant sans a face!

Let us ne’er again commiserate our lives

As the present hath begotten the ardors

Of one young son, and hopefully

His one in scores of creations, you, too!

Upon gazing into your eyes so mysterious,

The canis within is desirous to howl,

To howl at the midnight moon so bright

‘Tis tantamount to Solis‘ ancient lantern,

And it is then that our sinful, holy tryst,

Begat a dance determinant of our Fate:

We shall either have Heaven or Perdition

Dependant upon the successes of our ardors.

Fair maiden of the cherry blossoms; for you

Are a poppy so intoxicant, I shall be your’s,

For you are my drug, and I your’s, I pray;

Our collective pair of bloods boiling 

Six degrees separating our carnal heat

Within the cauldron, an uncontrolled

Desirous of the one to rip into the flesh of

The other, cover‘d only as a matter of heart.

I shall desire you unto Eternity hitherto;

Ne’er again wanton for love nor affection,

As Life is but our grand ballroom amid 

A mountain high in the skies, again mysterious

As your eyes equate to Mythology‘s Xanadu:

A perpetual dance ‘neath a moonlit night

And a trip to achieving Nirvana for our soul.

A dervish our tryst be characterized, 

And a rose in my teeth wishes to come to you;

And as I lean to kiss your lips, pouted, so lush, full

I exchange its red petals, intact, still decadent,

The stem sans thorns, penetrating your lips,

And still we bleed as one, our blood and saliva

Serving as the baptism in a mixture of A Union 

Yet to be recognized as official, ritualistic

By The Creator, for t’was us He graciously

 Begat and betrothed, two sets of anatomies,

One soul combin’d, and a heart to live unto Eternity

Till we are call‘d Home; for Death hath no power

Over our Love; the soul of one conjoin‘d with the other.

We may have not exchang’ed Vows to God,

Tho’ what does it matter, doth I ask, protest?

‘Tis an unnecessary formality as we already are!

PART III.

Epilogue: Our Souls, The Soul of One, Does Not Love;

‘Tis Love Itself:

Hand-in-hand we clasp’d, we dance, you, me;

Our countenance so pure, sans a worldly care

Other than the pleasure bestow’d 'pon the other

And the dance ‘tween Heaven and Hell

Beneath the auspices of her moonlit glow.

And tho’ I have yet to see thou face,

‘Tis a pointless matter: your beauty is Us:

For we embody more than flesh and bone.

We are one, my love; let us ne’er forget that:

For without the one, there is not the other.

Finis

For My Fair Stephanie: An Elegy of a Love Lost to the Verdict of Time

For My Fair Stephanie: An Elegy of a Love Lost to the Verdict of Time

Written originally in 2003; Revised on October 13, 2013

Part I.

As a feather begat by the heron's circling, 

You drift'd into my life via my heart's cries.
I question'd whether you were an angel

And The Lord doth affirm'd its validity. 

The times? The time were grand, 

And the first kiss surviv'd to see Eternity,
If only but for one brief romantic second,
As time is relative; our lives fleeting.

O' Stephanie! How you detect things within

My soul to which others are forever blind,

And yet, I let you fly away to a posterity

Bereft of my presence and a conjugal relation;

And because God said it would have been,
The angels have wept; 'tis the cascades of rain,
And yet, this wound'd wander'r shall tarry

Unto whatever void Eternity's sunset begets:

And so I say unto you, fair Stephanie,
How in spirit, I shall never leave your side:

In spirit, in sickness, as in health as well,

We shall always be as one, in my mind, spirit,
The soul shall never cease; we live ad infinitum.

Part II.

As the second hand ticks oblivioni

And the sands' descent upon us hath wrought,
Our time in the sun hath pass'd, an agonizing death,

And yet, I shall continue searching for you,
Sailing the skies which blend into her seas, azure,

Until upon the time we shall be together again.

O'! If I must, fair Stephanie, mon amour,

I shall manifest two wax wings, sail for the sun:

'Tis better to have hope for a posterity depriv'd,

Of your soft fingers' touch, bereft of your kiss
Than for my precious memories to be pilfer'd:
For at least with memories, we may yet fly as one!

And so I say unto you, fair Stephanie:

I shall never abandon the ardor of your memory,

For in spirit, we shall always sojourn side-by-side,
Even in death, which hath no power
Over the love for one, the desire for her affections.
The soul shall never cease; we live ad infinitum.