The Same Moon

The brightest stars twinkle in their places,
In the cloudless, dark blue sky.
On warm earth the flowers lie
With a dewy sprinkle on their faces.
The breeze sifts in a soft lullaby;
A nightingale croons: “Not him, ‘tis I.”

The lover sits beneath a leafy bower
Reviving a memory,
Of what was destined to be.
Remnants of it fall in a wary shower;
Wisps of an immortal mystery,
Of what is to be or not to be.

Always so distant and never too close;
Neither the ground for flight,
Nor the question of might.
Always the sun gave way as she arose;
The same love at her fair sight,
The same moon for us at night.

“I marked the time I was your only friend”

I marked the time I was your only friend,
When you, all alone, knew not where to be;
I mark the time, now that we reach an end,
As you would want to think no more of me.
You needed someone near and I was there;
Funny! How I thought of you as so sad!
I reached out and showed you how I did care,
I knew you thanked me then and you were glad.
I marked the time. I mark the time again,
When you don’t see me as I pass you by,
My heart shrivels, but my pride doesn’t complain
And I know it’s fruitless to mourn, or cry.
But be sure when a heart’s broken by you,
Time shall seek yours out and break it, too.

16th November
edited 10th February ’08.

“The rape of youth, by cruel fate and time”

The rape of youth, by cruel fate and time,
Long since negates the sweetness of those flowers;
Betraying love and murdering the rhyme
Which tells of hope surpassing deadly hours.
Those flowers you gave to me are red, the red
Which’s all that’s left on a virgin bride’s bed;
Those flowers you gave to me are soft and bright;
Tomorrow, tell me, will they please my sight?
Will those petals shrivel and lose their hue,
Or will they remain so – to love just me?
Oh, no, do not reply. (I know those tears, too!)
Those dew drops upon those petals I see,
They fade, e’en now, before my wary eye;
‘Tis best not to know that e’en now they die!

10th October

“The stars have filled the dark’ning sky with white”

The stars have filled the dark’ning sky with white
And silver sparks begin to shoot around;
The breeze shifts through the trees and sighs, at night,
For day allows it no audience, no sound.
I move at leisure on rain-kissed pathways
And wonder whether the breeze loves the trees
It whistles through; for, during lonely days,
It rests under the sun, above the seas;
At night, returns home and sings for the trees.
Sometimes I ache to see this lone affair
And weep to know there are locks, but no keys
To hearts that will not open, never tear.
And then I see the rustling leaves and know,
And then I feel the breeze which cancels my woe.

10th October

None and Every.

The air begins low and then sings high,
The birds soar skyward and then swoop by.
The sun melts yellow and mellow shines,
The light shoots through and evades the pines.

Mountains loom, snow falls and water gushes
Through crags between rocks and on rushes;
The chill is duly warmed by the beams,
Heaven on earth … or so it seems …

Concrete and tar rise upward, majestic, ugly,
A cold light of their own gleaming unceasingly,
A stoic hindrance to humanity, no doubt,
A human necessity they can’t do without.

The air lacerated with darkened soot and mindless smog,
Breezes stilled, beams dimmed, breath blocked,
Desolation crawls within as do suicidal tendencies,
Life’s utter folly, its own vagrancies.

The aimless thirst for what is not to what is,
To take from another what was never his,
Lie for no reasonable and explicable cause,
To exist, to not just live, but just because.

A child’s laughter so pure, almost divine,
Leads to beauty, joy and happiness sublime.
A man’s grown chuckle so virile, so morbid,
Resembles inborn greed and all that’s sordid.

A daughter’s anguished pain and her incessant weeping,
Her father’s grin and his forced ignorance constantly creeping.
The burst of metal and fire, the end of a living thing,
Existing billions blown from being to nothing.

Though the Mother still survives and lives on,
Though the Blessed Faith carries upon
A ruthless world, Hope remains and moves
To etch within Destiny its lovely grooves.

And the sun still shines and burns bright,
Just like the stars that burn at night.
The sand still sifts as the wind sighs,
And people still cry when love dies.

The Star.

The Sun melts in the Ocean blue
And sparks fly in the Sky,
To make it a red-purple hue,
That turns dark by and by.

The last orange dips in the water,
Which is aflame with red,
And it brings the Day to its slaughter,
As it takes Night to bed.

The Moon rises to rape the Star,
Which has wishes to give;
Dark, purple clouds smog up to mar
The Moon. They seem to drive

The Star out of harm’s reach, but, then,
As Night begins to play,
The Star within the Moon’s lighted den,
Cannot, blissfully, stay.

A dog begins to howl and bark;
Crickets cry and bats fly,
Around and around in the dark;
They know—something must die.

The clouds cover the Moon with fog
And the Star shines alone;
The Wind drowns the howling dog
With its deep baritone.

The Moon appears again to shine;
The Star trembles in fright;
The Moon seems to cry: mine, mine, mine!
And all’s quiet in the Night.

Then, suddenly, the Moon turns dark:
A red, maroon, then – black!
The Earth’s grim shadow puts its mark,
And gives the Moon its back.

Lost in power the Moon lies cold.
The Star lives on – to light
The Earth with a glory untold
And defeats the Moon’s night.