Wandering Beyond Starlight

As you are far,

So I am near.

In revelation,

Wandering beyond starlight.

 

A voice familiar,

Kept in my unconscious

Spindle.

 

So close you’ve

Come to

Knowing,

Yet tracks split

In seething fury.

 

Restless lovers

On the rusted

Wings

Yearning to take off

Into night.

 

Your glassy eyes

An indicator,

The bottomless orbs

Of everlasting traces.

 

A tip of the hat,

The call to flight,

Raven’s beak

A soft sounding

Recollection

Of our time in

An infinitely marked earth.

 

 

 

 

 

Hurt- Rebel Rose Anthology

Hurt in

A Sunday melting to

Monday gloom.

 

Your absent

Face,

Imprinted to

Incarnate visions

Stained upon the

Universe’s glowing

Pulses.

 

Dreaded

Leaving,

A grieving itch along the

Neck,

Record pricks to

Shifting sentiments.

 

Romantics on a

Freeze,

Mummified

Follicles

Bred

Along

A song’s cessation.

 

Naked notes

Uttered,

Too late in the

Lover’s entry,

Fires cooled

Within a music

Taken to,

Shadow sweeps

Along quiet beds

Going toward solemn cracks,

Wizened to the darkness

Losing its visage once again…

 

In Place of Beauty

Turning me in to the prisoner keepers…

 

I’ve faulted your sacred soul.

 

Embittered glass,

The surveying lense holding

It’s tempest steady.

 

The telling is in silence,

Distance creasing folds of

A relationship overturned by

Experience.

 

Crystal skull radiating
Prophecies,

 

Hot candle wax adrip,

 

Hardening truths…

 

Can you remember our time?

 

Roof sitting, galaxy gazing, warm conversation

Hazing our darkness,

Separate dynasties we belong to…

 

Steady tempest in scrunched hands.

Your will is to love me, but

You don’t know how.

 

Men I’ve met,

Unlike your quiet reflecting spirit,

Unlike the drum you beat,

Unlike the difficult path you walk in

Search of justice.

 

For the sake of bringing

Halves into reunion,

Can you forget the angry slashing

Tides,

The selfish winds,

The wrecking thunder,

In place of BEAUTY?

My Romantic Poetry

A Thing Of Beauty

 

She is a thing of

Beauty,

Softened grains,

Pearl clamped

In a scaled shell.

 

Poet’s muse is

Her only.

 

Tightly wound

A glimmering thorn.

 

Envy’s follicles

Never escaping

Perfection.

 

Mirror drop of

Soft petal sheath,

In awe of

Grace as she is

This.

 

Sweet surrender

Of rains,

Heaven’s gaze adrift

And never in search

Of Envy.

 

Peeking out at serenity

Streaming in,

So delicate,

A rare particle,

As soft as a maiden’s gaze

On her lover.

 

Sweet, never too succulent,

Always closing in

On Beauty.