The poem is lost
it is gone forever
lost to the veil of time
lost to the vagaries of memory
lost to the inexorable past
its words will be no more
its essence dissipated
its once intense feeling forgotten
it has burned its fierce light but once
its soul as bright as the darkness that followed it
its after image a bitter testament to its passing
no more shall it be spoken
no ears shall hear its verse
no eyes shall peruse its letters
gone is the poem
gone are its whispers
gone is the inspiration that conceived it
The poem is lost
and it shall never be written again
Monday, May 24, 2010
Dawn of Hearts
Dim embers of a drowsy sun
seeps at the pigments of night
when all the world's asleep
I see and hear and think
For ill conceived my thinking be
in daylights beams of logic
are banished by that mythic time
when night and days at war
What majesty is day reborn!
the death of night anew!
when all shadows are cast aside
my heart must sleep once more
The dawn of hearts forever comes
but i am not always there
so precious thus this time i have
with my jaded heart on fire
To see and hear and think and feel
to live and know no fear
seeps at the pigments of night
when all the world's asleep
I see and hear and think
For ill conceived my thinking be
in daylights beams of logic
are banished by that mythic time
when night and days at war
What majesty is day reborn!
the death of night anew!
when all shadows are cast aside
my heart must sleep once more
The dawn of hearts forever comes
but i am not always there
so precious thus this time i have
with my jaded heart on fire
To see and hear and think and feel
to live and know no fear
Artificial
There it was on first sight
The usual tinge, the expected
feeling suffusing delight
Then why now so dejected?
Have I lost my pen?
My words, my heart perhaps?
Missing the possibility just when-
they slowly begin to unwrap
Like a candle in the turbulent-
wind, seeking refuge in its own
dying light. Finding mere diffident
illusions where it once shone
Where now is that promise?
That shy faithful gleam
amidst the looming crevice
of a disenchanted dream?
Fallen into the chasms
of sleepy memory. Lost
like the nameless phantasms
of a silent creeping frost
And yet I keep treading
Every stroke of my pen nitid
with tentative courage, murmuring
each word with resolute bid
For Though this poem be artificial
my thoughts of You are not
The usual tinge, the expected
feeling suffusing delight
Then why now so dejected?
Have I lost my pen?
My words, my heart perhaps?
Missing the possibility just when-
they slowly begin to unwrap
Like a candle in the turbulent-
wind, seeking refuge in its own
dying light. Finding mere diffident
illusions where it once shone
Where now is that promise?
That shy faithful gleam
amidst the looming crevice
of a disenchanted dream?
Fallen into the chasms
of sleepy memory. Lost
like the nameless phantasms
of a silent creeping frost
And yet I keep treading
Every stroke of my pen nitid
with tentative courage, murmuring
each word with resolute bid
For Though this poem be artificial
my thoughts of You are not
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Rhyme in My Ears
A pleasing sound
though sad maybe
This rhyming bound
in melody
That sways and dance
with somber grace
To do a glance
of heaven chase
And in her weave
a humble gleam
to semblance give
the lofty theme
Of Hope and love
of death and strife
the laugh and sob
of human life
Laid in the notes
the player plays
whose heart devotes
and hand obeys
That which sublime
of feelings stirs
this pleasing rhymes
within my ears
though sad maybe
This rhyming bound
in melody
That sways and dance
with somber grace
To do a glance
of heaven chase
And in her weave
a humble gleam
to semblance give
the lofty theme
Of Hope and love
of death and strife
the laugh and sob
of human life
Laid in the notes
the player plays
whose heart devotes
and hand obeys
That which sublime
of feelings stirs
this pleasing rhymes
within my ears
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