In You

Begun were the days in light’s sake,
Here few are the smallest drops of rain,
Began are the days that invite you here,
Breathe again; the sight is yours reborn.

Marching through the scorching lidless fire,
A candle was but her heart’s intake as felt,
Fickle and fought were her tears to oust,
Would then but Neptune’s ally yearn to help,
Bring this our torment these waters poured,
In each descent of drop the wine was taste,
Fall through the creases here, here, here,
A heart to vibrate the glass you call fear,
In each sound your steps be the life of tremor.

Let the wind blow who knows more,
Right and left, forward and back, slip and through,
Cast thyself into the fire whose heart is burned,
A soul is lingering to glow but how knew not,
Ere beau is sung the scars we never see,
Though how simple beings we with complex minds,
How tired we are in a day’s struggle against us,
To come back and dread the morrow’s own dread,
But for the gates of life are truly inviting,
To lose is but an option only for the few,
And to lose is but to kneel ere fate’s resign,
Though that was never truly in your heart’s design,
So shall see walk back into the dark her lantern high,
The dark heart is but the blood we never find,
Sound is but you who can find within and move,
Words brought are but similes to become you.

March on, neither empty nor full a stomach to delay,
Head up, for every fall is an equal and bigger rise,
Whisper your name and see who you behold how true,
In years, then the years shall find you more to rouse,
To display the splendour you muster for hope and you.

Hope

A little while and slowly parts away,
But for brave deeds known ere the pleasant call,
Is home for not but gained in mustered wake,
Within whom looks round and sees hearth truly him,
The figure in dark was but sure at bay,
Although how mute one can be in hope’s face,
Before long they kiss the lips however dark,
For sure as he you shall find your way,
Treading each step as though the first was not,
Then look back and see how far you travelled,
Then hear the echoes of dreams as they come.

Her Voice

If only hers would be reflection lost,
No mirror would present her face beheld,
In the chance of shame one would crawl,
And the tears held back can only flood,
In the flood was but her mind merely drowned,
Her voice may be broken but never silenced,
For her voice regained shall gravity fool,
Then her feet shall ripple the Earth in wait,
Light however amenable is touched by fear,
How hellish an angel is for clippéd wings,
Though through never is but flight regained,
Who shall suffer not in corner and quiet
Then recovers her feet in higher ground, Read More