Statuary


What if I could stand as still as stone
As pale as bone
Here all alone
Would you then see me as I am
Or would I stand
Forever in a land where light had never shone?

What if I could be your quiet guard
Your singing bard
With knuckles scarred
Would you then choose to finally see
And offer me
The you I always see in dreams that you have starred?

What if I could hold a single pose
Any you chose
Forever froze
Would I become worthy to hold
Be seen as bold
Or merely seen as cold, a perch for dying crows?

What if I could speak and you’d reply
Or even try
A simple “hi”
Would I then find the thing I seek
Or, standing meek,
Continue feeling weak and asking, “What if you were breath, and I was but a sigh?”

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Lover


Ever more what none had been
More so than any other
Crucifix against the sin
As if some holy mother

With a mark upon my cheek
That wears your somber color
Lips, though parted, never speak
We, now, to one another

Even still, what couldn’t be
Like snow adrift in summer
With a glow I crave to see
In eyes that now you cover

Half an inch above the ground
Your aura seems to hover
All the same, my heart is bound
To you, my silent lover

Nereid


Were you with me there when winter came and washed the world in white
A pixie in the painting of my phosphorescent dreams
And were you holding me the way you said you never meant to do
Beneath the day where skies of blue
Could be the last of given sight
And I would never care to ask you what it means

Were you with me there when silence sounded like a simple sigh
The momentary magic of the memories to be
And were you walking there beside me on the shores of broken shells
Where, looking back upon the trail
I saw that neither you or I
Were leaving tracks that weren’t eaten by the sea

Were you with me there when all the windows seemed to open wide
A flurry of forever cast in dandelion fields
And were you wishing on the stars I couldn’t see behind the moon
My heart of string so out of tune
My vision curtained and denied
A letter never truly sent, forever sealed

Were you with me there within the softness of a summer scene
A melody or muse or just a moment meant to be
And were you watching me and waiting as I often did for you
Beneath the fading skies of blue
Without a care for what it means
Or was your magic just a miracle you meant to give away…
…But not to me?

Symphony


There, as if drawn by the orchestral notes of despair
Where strings are the echoes of confidence never reclaimed
Violins strung with the promise of pain in the air
And played with a bow that could never be tamed
For eternity built it with only a strand of your hair

I, as the listener, lingered where longing provoked
The somber refrain of the melody best never heard
Cellos were playing the darkest and deepest of notes
A cadence of crying that carefully lured
Me to temples, where tired and tearful, I tragically spoke

There, in the chamber, were tapestries painted of you
And organs were weeping the hymns of your final farewell
Timpanis were pulsing – the beat of my heart as you flew
And left on my lips were the words in a swell
A crescendo intended, now suddenly hollow and few

I, as the watcher, was singing the last of my songs
Where notes are the humming of rain in the days that I wait
Trumpets of tragedy, mournfully playing along
And all that I have are the words I create
In a symphony where you were music – and words don’t belong

Bird


I tried to write a poem for you on a single feather
Wasn’t long and I was running out of space
And so I grabbed another, but there’s no amount of letters
That, compared to you in person, could be more than just a trace

Another feather taken, but my pen was running empty
So a pack of seven dozen I procured
But they were insufficient when explaining how you gently
Took my hand and tried to lead me from the darkness I endured

Soon I had a million words upon a thousand feathers
Even then, I knew it wasn’t good enough
For putting you in words – it was to try to paint the weather
Or to photograph eternity or make an angel blush

Finally out of ink and out of feathers I retired
Not because I thought I had no other words
I stopped because the feathers, wearing words of such desire
Grew a heart, and sang a song, and flew away into the heavens like a bird

Enchanted


When did all the land become a garden, vast and sprawling
And filled with every form of magic one could hope to hold?
Where clouds of golden hue release a rain of silver falling
Where kisses cure the curses of the wicked, cruel, and cold

Where winter winds are meek, and merely¬†whisper what the truth is –
The snow, like diamonds drifting in the sky and in the streets
Where you were Guinevere, imparted with a heart pellucid
And every road appeared to be the one where we would meet

When did all the land remove the views of old corruption
And fill the waking world with all the joy of what could be?
Where hymns are never hollow, and we heal of our compunction
And under candle chandeliers, we share a cup of tea

Was it when you spoke and said my name, but with a smile,
And somewhere deep inside I felt like wishes could be granted
I know the answer now, in fact, I’ve known it for a while
It’s you, in every way, and I am hopelessly enchanted

 

Contrition


Where was my armor when facing the blade of your loneliness?
The river of reason that wound through the glade
Of impedance? The promises made?
Where was the altar I needed to pray when you told me this:

“Sweet your intention but dark your attention, now venomous
A beautiful, blooming, but toxic bouquet
Of addiction you swiftly display.
Woefully willing to worship as if I, your benefice.”

Where were my words when I needed them most to explain to you
The moments and meaning I meant to convey
Like an oath, I knew not how to say.
Why was there sun in my sonnet when only the rain would do?

Where was your kindness and gentle accord when I needed it?
Where was the triage I needed to heal?
Were the wounds that I felt even real?
Were you Persephone‘s spring, and I simply conceded it?