The Collection of English Poems: The Story Book
Before the hour of sunset, I sailed through the air of mind;
As the close of day suffused the images in a dramatic darkly rose-gold light;
It was sometimes a joy to behold and better wait awhile;
for you are my ray of sunshine day after day, year after year, lasting a lifetime.
Fanned by the off-shore breath of wind that came with the last light,
The dream stood out a mile and brought somewhere back along the line;
It was God’s will for you in this life,
come come no crying, it’ll all come right.
Somewhere in the world, a miracle is happening, only we’re so blind.
THE SMALL FIGURE
IN THE CRADLE
He cried far into the night,
unasked and unnoticed,
storming all night long untraced,
but would never tire of his plight.
His screams subsided into sobs,
as the silence still lengthened,
his bleak future never enlightened
nor did it make the disrepair stopped.
Sailing along the sea of blur,
hope I can grab a falling star.
Wishing upon the daylight to occur,
You can never be this much far.
Surging me along like a torture,
Flying high up, all frozen we are.
The waves poured through, we shuddered,
Only the heartbeats have kept us warm.
A DEAD END
O Knight, we’ve been playing a toneless song,
waiting for another but too long.
We’ve been drifting along through a waveless sea,
no strong wind to drag the vessel to flee.
Here we are standing before our flowerless garden,
awaiting to grow to unload all these burdens.
This springless season has dampened us both,
declining and decaying our solemn oath.
Here we are lying under this moonless night,
wishing any star to cease the fight,
unwrapping our diamond to let it shine,
to bring round its dim to get us to devine.
AT THE GRAVEYARD
Through empty rooms,
One’s soul wanders inside,
mournfully shivers un damp and darkness,
is hungry and no one brings it food,
is cold and no one lights a fire,
is tired and there isn’t a chair to sit on.
Some are walking with glorious spirits,
have been fed on with honey-dew,
and drunk the milk of Paradise,
words of praise, rivers of private prayers,
thanking God for having let them live and sing,
for hearing the music of heaven,
as the gift of their best,
of their shares of divinity,
just like coming home cheered and strengthened
The pitiful souls doomed to eternal solitude
to put out feelers in the dark,
to get to close to each other,
to touch to each other,
to try to make each other warm.
Yet all is to be bound to end in smoke and nothingness.
What is there, but pain in the end.
As the light is subdued to a mysterious gray green,
The world is quieted into a listening silence,
If only one knew what came next.
In the pre-dawn light, rays shaft down,
spreading, turned the sea to gold.
A chilled hatred settled in my bones,
came and went in waves round and round.
On a odd wonderland, I’d been miserably jerked,
Sobbed, cried, shouted, moaned and whimpered,
Fueled by anger of unreachable oneness,
like a moon caught in a net of stars hopeless.
I’d been rooted, nested, and chained to you;
All I’d ever wanted was you and alone you.
The serenades ‘d then be sung to tempt you
down from the sky and be solemnly fused, too.
Untie me from fantasies escaping from the sun;
Release me from what we’ll never be done.
I loathed having all this and wished to run
Away from what we both shared but never won.
IN THE CONCERT HALL
The opening-night performance,
there on stage,
rocked the flesh, blood, bone,
and solitary souls,
into the midst of the battle
around that raged.
Slowly it gripped, subsided,
And silenced the dying owls.
Through this chilly sleeve of water
I whispered your name
wanting you at all near
to keep these emotions in flame
The snowstorm struck with fury,
crossing the water’ d make me crazy;
nothing to find, but your shelter,
to wipe away these tears, my dear.
A CHILDHOOD MEMORY
The big waves were pounding in
from a vast and moody sea;
silhouetted by the sunset’s waning glow.
Knee-deep I am now standin’
can no longer see the water flow
Yet a pair of dark-brown eyes are boring into me.
Yeah, we were once here
fulfilling a childhood dream
in that magical year;
when the days never ended, it seemed.
That is above us right now
filling and darkening the cloud.
The butterfly’s wings are cracking at last,
as the fall is falling and it must.
The wings’ colors are wearing out,
as the nectars are hardly found.
The wings began to stop flapping,
as the dazzling dews are vanishing.
The leaves are turning yellow and brown,
and the soft wind is blowing them down.
The sky is getting darker and darker;
that stops me from going any farther.
All the rose petals are finally tearing apart
awaiting the daybreak for a brand new start.
The rain was so loudly crashing and drumming,
with a voice like a waterfall, it’s pouring;
a blur of face in my adolescent memory appeared,
with the crown of the past fun and fear;
all as before, as once upon a time,
as his voice was drifting on the wind.
The rain ceaselessly rustled and chattered,
with soft tiny drops of crystal water;
He’d invented a whole new life for me,
as the daylight was breaking rapidly.
All now rendered in silence and solemnity,
ablaze with the morning sun and the blue sky;
I just came out of the maze in
which I had for so long wandered.
The beauty of the world gleamed and glittered;
it walked in joy and in glory;
I wanted from you nothing,
for my life was rich within.
Every evening, as the darkness falls,
you are swiftly standing and tall,
like a sudden rose in bloom
setting in silence all the gloom.
Watching the sunset burn out to flame,
feel like I’ve been anchored to your game.
For all the costs I start to blame
on what you did and what I became
on what you’re doing here and why you ever came.
This is all nothing, but a veritably great shame.
The storybook is finally closed,
and yet, the melody echoes
through the fragrance of the rose
to where the summer breeze blows.
The storybook is finally bound,
with a pointless line squall
burying the shadows, not to fall.
And yet the end is never found.