Tag Archives: true love

To Live Again

This silence only threatened by the straining of my heart, beating, as I wait and wonder. I feel the pressure in my veins, thickened, stained in ancient blood, trying to save me, hoping to quit, forced to move on by only what is left of my physical existence… my beating heart.

Reflecting through the pages, turning each so slowly as if I’ve never known their faces, drawing every image in. A mustiness wafts from the turning, held captive by the dog-eared corners of years long gone. I see my entire life move before me, one sacred image at a time… A whisper culls a quiet question in my mind, “What have I done?” Only to be followed by, “What remains undone?”

History hints at moments hushed, the scent of life, a lover’s blush, then draws a quiet candlelight to show the truths in such. I smile, knowing life’s been good, granted peace as much.

But what of purpose left undone, unshared wisdom, songs unsung? What of steps that fear had stayed when dreams could have been won? Gestalt it seems has made its play, regret has laid its run.

Return again! I must return! This desperation tides my soul, but what of life yet drawn to be, how might I know my role?

Perhaps I come on eagle’s wing, above the alpine valleys. Sing!
Define this life in higher call, perspectives’ sweep to see it all.
Perhaps I come as mountain bear, to dig beneath and find what’s there,
noble in a giant’s strength, yet humbly seeking truth at length.
Perhaps as wolf I come to be, one for the pack, yet one for me
with solitude a living grace, histories ink upon my face.

Oh, but no, I cannot face a life wherein I’d let you slip away.
If must becomes an operand, then for your love I’ll bait that day.
For you, my love, for you, I’d only come to live again if I could be with you.

written for dVerse poetics: Coming Back – 2-Feb-2016

http://dversepoets.com/

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

A Winter’s Kiss

Stand still amidst the frozen hush,
suspended twixt each crystal’s blush,
surrendered in mid-winter’s snow.
Starve your senses in the bold
retreat of hearth’s sweet warmth, left cold,
reducing now to all you know.

Iron bare, the season’s scent,
riding on a whisper’s hint,
each frozen note in languid air.
Blushing cheeks of summer rose,
stem the midnight’s soft repose,
hints of jasmine in your hair.

Within your deepest eyes, a smile,
transfixed, transposed in time, the while,
about you snowflakes swarm.
All angels draw their gaze on you,
our eyes, your eyes, here frozen, two,
yet still I find your lips are warm.

Ah! Winter’s night, within the storm,
impassioned hearts removed, reborn,
upon the white and virgin snow,
alive this moment, as lovers, know,
this moment, hallowed, sacred.

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Angel’s Kiss

Tiny tinsel twining there,
suspended in the evening light,
gathers dew as lovers drawn,
to feed the soul,
to feed the night.

Hearts across a universe,
mortal love,
immortal souls,
descend the heavens,
longing touch,
defining dew drop’s kiss,
so bold.

Yet angel’s wings are stranger things
when to the mortal touch be blessed,
shape a heart in labyrinth,
embracing hope with truth confessed.

But not of mortal love alone,
but of a simple heart’s desire
to warn the soul,
to kindle kind
the ashes of love’s fire.
The fire,
that once has burned
within a mortal beating heart,
is lashed to love again,
again,
until an angel takes the part
to free the anguish and the grief,
to carry life’s own burden grown,
to bear the weight and frame eternal,
to swiftly lift sweet love toward home.

Dew drops stacked in waiting,
wanting,
upon the tiny tinsel there…
just souls in longing love’s return,
suspended in the evening air…

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Filed under Angels, Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

All I Want

Steel my aching love of thee,
rent your fabric from my dreams,
quell the sudden upstarts’ shift
that pulls the threads from hidden seams.

Cast a cold and pallor stare
befitting of a graveside rain,
shred the memories of my soul
that I may come to love again.

Deny your silken beauty
to fabric of an eon’s dust,
count your blushing smile within
the dog eared pages histories trust.

Bathe my memory empty,
white washed before the bleaching sun,
that ere I come to see you
will fade before my heart can run.

Twist the ink by such a spell
to ne’er reflect the prose I’ve stayed,
dump the feathered drunkard well
till pools of black are left and played.

For thee I count among the dead,
tho’ ghostly still, by living haunt,
‘til in my fear, to see you,
is truly all I really want.

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Filed under Memory, Perspective, Poetry, True Love

Physics of Attraction

This arc, this life, in tempest,
calls to intersecting points of soul,
embracing love for focal point
yet claiming just one point to hold.
In glancing time and calculus
by gravity bound, inertia stays
to bend our lives through space and time,
to bend our love and minds in ways
that mathematics can’t resolve,
physics can’t portray, define.
Yet souls alive through living draw
the force of love in lines.

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In Eros’ Service – the mender

Cast betwixt two drifts of wind my sorry soul did drown,
torn between two lover’s tides, in confluence, pulled me down
beneath these waves of temporal flux, be cast to love’s deep purpose,
where only I can pay the debt, one hundred years be tied to service.

In penance to all breaking hearts that I may mend their shattered hopes,
forever ‘neath the northern star, forever pulling frozen ropes.

No reference to horizon made that I my debt delay,
held beyond sweet morning’s dawn, denied each glimpse of day.

Cast I wreck from havoc to belay a pardon’s sweet remorse
that these poor souls adrift here, by me, return their course.

So to love or death they go with fractured hearts amend,
yet of the shards here left behind unto my selfish purpose lend
a hope that love may still await when placed within my own,
that penanced years of servitude may build a heart, so grown.

Yet still the seas of love do crash, deliver me their broken hopes,
as time stands still beneath this pole, these frozen hands on frozen ropes.

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The Gypsy Rover

Her silken touch in dance across the twill’s uneven strand,
graces so her slender wrist as beauty’s stem and giving’s hand.
Poised in quiet pleasure, she works the loom in quickened throws
of shuttle passing twixt the threads which capture kind the weft in rows.

Her mind and heart deny the task that binds this simple weave,
permits her drift on whispered tones of gypsy songs that pitch and heave
through stories of the rover, of hearts won true seduced by song,
of verdant green and rolling rills that tempt a maiden’s heart strings long.

Between the woven threads of twill she hears a whistling soft and sweet
that slowly grows above the hill, its timber and its tone complete.
She feels the green wood gently ring in echo ‘cross the valley’s rill,
till nearer from the shady lane she feels her heart give rise, then still…

“But for gypsy rover!” she laughs and pulls the warp lines tight,
“One day he’ll yet come for me!” smiles and casts the shuttle’s flight
between the warp suspended threads, sweetly bound by loving hand,
blended with the rover’s song still tempting maidens through the land.

In honor of and inspired by the song “The Whistling Gypsy” also known as “The Gypsy Rover”

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