Oh, prince, I cannot promise that my case
be prime and pure to win the doubting Thomas with a
delicate demure, but,
this I swear – when I have vowed, my heart
will never fail you! Alas, that, I may find you now to prove it
and to pray you.
I breathe through dew
a wailing sigh
a battered pretense that has
threatened to die
under cold stars
a falt’ring dream
received from my breast
breathed to life, frail green light
that thawing dream
once lost, once renewed
yet, too far to exist
that shard of
and, as I gaze,
the stars reel on
more bright than the metal
that bends in the desert
across the darkness.
Here the start
Book of dreams (My autobiography)
Grand adventurer! (Applause!)
Hard to tell
Right from wrong
Is it normal?
SONNET I –
The Perilous Quest to the Land of Fey
Leave me not unto myself
to take this quest to dreaming’s end!
There hath no mortal field or elf
dared breach that turmoil for to send
sad testimonies home of bitter findings
nor hath any monster donned to take that path,
its erstwhile windings
leading through the veil of wrath!
For, unto the Fey to draw
t’is the winding of that way,
mortal worlds retain no awe
than what it yields a single day –
that fiery jeweled land of yond’
that were I gone, I find it nay.
The most beautiful thing
little hearts poking out
through the grass,
I think their shape makes sense.
Something of a strewn bounty
trying and trying.
Speaking to my heart alone
the martyrdom of failed attempts.
The very essence of it
There are very few things
I chose for myself,
but this I do:
you help me bring out my happy.
My favorite memory is of you.
And though I do not wallow
in the thought of you,
unable to untangle my
I am drunk
with the gratitude that owns you.
Somewhere high up,
a bond exists between us.
Somehow we belong
to one another;
we are secret fools,
And this I chose –
I chose what compliments
the colors in this glowing heart.
And though I chose, in the guise of whomever the flower,
the person I am whilst with you, may I confess
in frank gladness that I’m happy that flower is you.
Oh, pain – pain of patience drawing the fruit from me.
How I hate you;
How I love you!
Without you I forget myself;
Abide and I revere too much.
You cause pangs from deep within – for need of bless’d relief from silent voids in speech and mind, for bursts of new creation.
You catalyze thoughts in me that stir me into out-letting;
Why not come when I am wild instead of now when I stand tamed?
Time is precious, I cannot waste it.
Boredom – blessing you are to me;
I will write to set you free