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Sunday, February 11, 2007

Private Saga

Greatest Sin

how hard to be
a reflection,
a former self of
something more substantial,

I reflect your real,
sitting here
upon my own window sill
to the world;

light reflects
on shuttered windows,
love intervenes,
a thief of many,

it roams
these empty rooms,
filled with dust
and the unseen,

and your graffiti,
etched in the dirt:
if we shut out the sun,
then darkness will reign,
lost in oceans beating
a lonely shore,

days unlived remain
our greatest sin


Rain Saga

Rain beats a rhythm
in life by day,
a melody of footstep mimicry
to a city in rushing cry;

Yet when the city seems asleep
the night burns harder,
and lasting lovers listen
to the rain talk
of a different saga;

Raindrops beat an under-rhythm
to the melody of desires
when supping bodies
tame their nightly fires,

As street lamps enflame scattered
jewels falling from the sky,
lovers dream to hold
ransom the moonbeam's memory
of approaching day.

Owls throw out calls
in high ecstasy,
as the silver-blue rain spreads
wings with angelic temerity

Around puffed out forms
of willing lovers; they share
each rainy night
with unlimited possibility
and the moonlight's stare;

Raindrops sing longingly
to the faithful light
of scented candles,
and a man and woman's destiny

Of married shadows is etched
in the memory of a way,
to silken clouds
above a darkened roof
that do not seek the day.

Read more of my poems >>

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