In the pale light of a burgeoning moon, swims the soul of eternity, wound around each lovers swoon, to capture sighs, and set them free. The flickering dash of painted clouds, shrouds each tremulous motion, as hearts and lips enjoin, avowed, to swim this endless ocean.
For in that summers breeze doth blow, the remnants of forever, alight upon a sweet tableaux, these spirits trussed together.
Cocooned, the dappled love filled light, transforms each whispered murmur, into a nightingale so bright, its song does sing sweet ardour.
A rhapsody of risen wings, that sweeps into this glory, two hearts on loves sweet fluttering's, resound an ancient story.
Where psyche and her sweet amour, united in devotion, regale the host with true loves law, entwined in winged emotion.
For as the Larks first notes rang true, and dipped the moon with grace, the brilliant dawn arose anew, to shine on loves new face.
How strange and beautiful the world can be,
profound beyond measure,
demanding all that we would cling to,
releasing all upon its flow,
to slip in time within this magic dance,
loves dips and swirls, caught within a trance.
Time winnows the ripened grain from the chaff,
and casts the broken husks into the wind.
Only then can the bread be made, to be broken.
Are these the things that you wanted to leave?...
are these the things that you wanted to say?
Now that the earth has swollen around your naked feet,
and the bull has taken you to ground.
I heard your name screamed across the court yard,
by the old toreador with the jumbled white hair and the mad stare, he walked amongst the crowd and bellowed:
'Serge has left us today, Serge has gone!'
They stood agape, aghast in the horror of the jape.
A hushed silence swept amongst the throng,
gathered by the stalls, bleached and broken,
beneath those shattered concrete walls.
The Bull, your Bull, your mad wild Bull,
strutting with the gore upon his horn,
the one that had torn a hole through your soul,
a wild fire burning in his eyes.
Was this what you wanted said?
Was this what you wanted left?
When we spoke, the terror in your eyes fixing me to the spot,
firming my soul with those white hot coals,
the resolve exuding through those weathered lines,
I knew, as you, those lines would never crease again.
And still you did not say it, you did not say it!
Could you not say it?
or were you supposing there would be another instant,
anchored to the dirt, the weight of your tome,
dragging your eyes to the floor,
as all must meet their own, before the mirror or the door.
I recall your final turn, labored and shallow,
the tossed comment, a biscuit to the bull,
as younger men leapt those fiery horns.
What was it your broken face could not betray
in the darkening of that moment?
To read between the lines, the folded words unspoken.
The silence between the spaces, the folds of wrinkled letters,
written upon those worn out faces, spread across your own.
I saw him charge, as if all time had stopped,
and you, frozen in mid sentence, jailed by the moment,
your pen, like the silent tongue,
trapped within those jaws of steel,
what did you feel in that final thrusting rush?
tied up and trussed in the chute of the sticking throat,
That fence could never hold such a frenzied death,
that gargantuan storm upon whose horns you were born.
I watched in slow motion the dust rise to greet you,
to welcome you home again, to open the door,
my long suffering ancient toreador.
You who tore upon the page with wisp and wit,
humbling many a wild charge, full of snot and venom,
a plenum of monstrous muscle stopped in its tracks.
In your prime... yes!, in your prime!...
garlands and music, girls wound around your pen.
whirling even then, and then...
'Serge has left us today, Serge has gone!'
Gone to where the silence rules the day,
and the moon, the dawn. Serge has left us, down, and gone.
Are these the things you wanted to leave?
Are these the things you wanted to say?
'Speak the truth in your heart to those that matter!
while you can old friend.
For the ground is hard of hearing, and speaks in stones.
The dead carry the silence with them in the heavy earth,
and they are quiet enough, for us all.'
I had a great love of beautiful things. I saw them as something outside of myself, for the longest time. Broken, one day, i looked into a very dark place and found a jewel covered by a dark shroud. It had been hidden from me, until such time as i was forced to enter its realm. When i lifted that shroud, the space in which i found myself was no longer dark, and i was bathed in the beauty i had long sought, and thought belonged to others. It was then, that i recognized that all the beauty i had seen and gathered, as if in someone else's dream, had been shrouded within my own heart all along. I looked once again into the darkness, and saw you there. I saw inside your heart, what you yourself could not see, and having seen the beauty that resided there, how could i not hope to lift the veil of its own secrecy, and restore to you, what had been hidden from view for so long. You are more beautiful than you might ever suspect, and though you be in darkness still, beauty dwells within you.
I want to grow old with you,
stay young with you,
watch the dark turn to gray,
and play with you!
day after day,
as we laugh at our wrinkles
and gather our girth,
dissolving into senescence with mirth.
Old faces weathered and aged,
lines that have turned every page,
eyes, that sparkle, still,
spell bound in the vision and thrill,
staring across the pillow, across the years,
across the bridge we forged between us.
The long years we journeyed,
searching, playing, learning,
so that all we had become,
could be brought before the alter of our love,
an offering of ripened tumescence,
to bless each fine aged ripple,
that laps upon these full weathered shores.
I want to grow old with you,
stay young with you,
giggle as we fall apart, together,
hand in hand, two old hearts,
kissing, as we slip into forever.
Betwixt the flame, and juniper,
the spritely dance so bright,
the may bells chime, the piper,
from darkness into light.
Did the rain douse the embers in the dawn?
When the fires raged, upon the hill,
your poignant heart tossed into the flame,
rising through the darkness, once again,
into the hallowed silence, and beyond,
did you feel the sallow crush of my own,
sweep across the moorland and the brush,
dressed in these sodden rags,
without a home, muddied and mired,
in the sunken shifting dirt of desire;
No true love that was ever born,
is alone in the darkness of night,
like a rose that is paired to its thorn,
true love is connected to light.
In the crackling heat of the logs and twigs,
bursting into fire at your feet,
did the drums drown out my heartbeat,
in the swirling ecstasy of your trance, and still,
the fervent longing of your missions bitter pill,
to take this darkness, tucked under your wing,
an offering to this ever loving man, and dash it,
down into the fire, devouring the night,
in the kindling embers of that radiant light.
Beauty lifts the soul,
laughter softens the chin,
love holds the flame,
that shines the light within.
To soften hearts, and raise the subtleties of spirit,
above the rancour of dull earth,
the din of the forlorn and broken.
No greater beauty doth a spirit bring,
than that it fill a soul, to raise its heart to sing.
Magic rings,
in every soft simple sweep, of your melodious trill,
the epiphany of gossamer chords,
drift mellifluously through the morn,
for yours, little bird, is the gentle gift of the light reborn.
Releasing your all to the all,
becoming one and all without becoming at all.
Being, without intention,
without collusion or confusion,
simply melting in a melting pot without sides,
all times, stirring in silence,
timelessness brought into the moment.
Staring into eternity through a single raindrop.
Fate and destiny mark our bond,
for you my love,
are the flower that blooms late,
in the bittersweet field,
sown with the ashes of past grief.
Tilled and turned within the rich loam,
the death of fading hopes and dying dreams,
strewn between the rotting mulch,
mingling in the cool rain of your fallen tears,
the sodden peat of all those forlorn years.
This fecund seed,
that bursts into the fading light,
screams 'LIFE!'...
Born from every woe and strife,
feeds upon the sorrow and the grief,
broken and discarded,
in the doleful debris of your past.
An efflorescence of courage and triumph,
erupting into this dim world,
the effulgence of our hallowed glory,
bedazzling, in the twilight of our years.
This testament, rich and fragrant,
emboldened in these dark silken petals,
the blossom from out the solemn shadow,
resplendent amidst these two bespoken fettle's.
The aromatic splay, of natures patient ways.
