The Pouring Thoughts of a Wandering Romantic

We quarrel like children and speak like adults Scrambling soon to see the results He who left marks more will have made more gained back Taking all scrutiny, a vicious attack

I scaled the cliffs of Dover,

My eyes perhaps deceived me—

For when the climb was over,

A figure did I see;

Shrowded in shadows

That manifest as cloth,

Wrinkling in wind upon weeds

Pivot-clung like sloth.

My steps fell wheezed and heavy,

Patiently I waited,

The fog came and went weary

Like a traveller well-sated.

My breath paused upon the height.

Eternity fell.

Swept long tendrils, blurred a sight,

A stranger's shape known well.

He spoke only through the wind,

Seen only through sun rear his back;

Feared I to withdraw attention

From the thing in black.

It seemed his past moves were carved

In halo 'round his air

His moves next unseen, or unturned

Under clouds grey as hair.

Perfect silver was his lure,

But no wealth of a king;

A butterfly flitted through him;

His hands bore nothing.

Richer was I, the beholder

In the golden shine

Cast upon my weary body

As I was faced by Time.

He spoke to me thrice along

And bow I to my knees

Over shadow swept with guidance

Rest of all my needs

God fashioned from elements,

Why'd it come to be?

That a law manifests standing

On the cliff with me.

Obedient, I peer up

Closer came attuned

Eyes known never and forever

Nothing left assumed

His gaze seemed absent yet present

Hand there, but again not;

Looking down to me as if I'm

Nothing he forgot.

His silhouette flickered

Illusory come

But when my climb was over

It counted as one.

Chipped skin felt like powdered snow

On my shoulder landed

Felt I that persistent hold

Though I was unhanded.

As I kneeled there in the grass,

Teary and tired,

The black enveloped me a while

'Til my cries expired

I closed my eyes and bowed to it

Felt the passing seasons

Into his lap fell my head

For a million reasons

There was one solution,

Through my mind it raced,

From his will to me as his hand

My young features traced

Wrote he lines of history

Lulled me to a sleep

Left bittersweet lullabies

In the grass laid deep

Sand and demand immune ran

Somewhere at some pace;

Not in fields high from the ground

A salty-aired place

My mind slipped my grasp

But I knew where lay my shell

Frozen by that shaded presence

That knew it most well

Visions grasped of youth and dew

Surfaced uncovered then

Days of slumber, nights of pain

Never seen again.

As the waves crashed to the chalk

Erasing the pain

So went the worldly pleasures

That served no greater gain.

Feeling seen instead of watched

Glassy eyes witnessed our dreams

On the stones that congregated

By the end of thousand streams

There I slept and woke and wondered

Just what all was over

When I was alone again

On the cliffs of Dover.

Awake in the morn’ by the sound of the bell In the well of a church tower, inhale the smell Of the swelling loaf of bread in the furnace next door; No longer in dream, but dream evermore. A breath-taking view, but the breath is restored By the dew-making dawn, closer comes, so adored The sun bored to the eye, masks itself in the grey; And he, splayed in the linen sheets much the same way

First sight has been feast enough of the marble That I marvel at still ‘til my mind is in garble. His bramble-dark eyes be nourishment enough To snuff all the woes that could ever fall rough.

Arguable, they say, distance makes the heart fonder; My wonder must in distant dreams be, I ponder No fonder could man be of man than am I When my eyes befall him beneath the morning sky.

And well yond the rain-drunken flowers of May, Beyond the applause at the end of the play What more can I say than what’s written in days, But may only be read under the moon’s pale rays?

O, this stupor. This breath-taking, star-waking, bone-shaking, sorrow-breaking stupor – Which howls at the silver from pleasure and pain; Forgetting his speechlessness for his heart’s gain.

But when I'm alone with you, all I think about is you.

Granted, I am a caged bird

What I was raised to be

Sat with iridescent feathers

So you may marvel at me

Cast rainbows like fractured mirrors

Polite when I'm offered tea

Because I am a caged bird

Owner is my family

Let my wings remain closed

As the rules allow

Standing like a dehorned rose

An underperformer's bow

Got eye poked when it was open

By now forged shut like a wound

Let converse my phoenix siblings

My contributions go presumed

Impolite to reveal guests

The cracks along my back

Futile fight for difference

When I may just get a snack

I am fed the soft velvet cakes

Brushed to the eye's delight

When it falls night, I do what I might

The sleeping cannot turn the light

No one face is mine

But all of them I keep defined

When no perception liberates

The prisoner of mind In darkness

I open my wings

And yawn with strength galore

They may have filed my claws

Your wail for the unknown

I write you sonnets on tissues

So at least you call me talented as you tear them up

But your rain soon soaks it up, landing like applause

My words only make you cry more, but at least now you see

The beauty in your tear-stained cheeks

Dear child,

Every night your pleas fill up my ears

Rawing your throat crying for me will not dry the tears

Sweet child,

I am no one answer for a thousand sorrows

You are cursed by yesterdays but blessed with more tomorrows

Oh, child,

When you reach your hand to the darkness of night,

Only closer to your hand comes the distant starlight.

Blue child,

Only your eyes see beyond the caging of your mind

The light reminds your tears of rainbows, great relief you'll find.

Meek child,

'Tis not your time, for more numbness ensues with me

Sensation is earthly pleasure, more to seize for thee

Loved child,

I cannot take that which early died within

Wait on for the strike to come, the match that lifts your chin

Their child,

Flowers blossom when granted water and light

If there be nothing to lose, the more vicious the fight

So, child,

Grow back into the sun, let rain drum your heart;

Forlorn mourn of war-torn horn

Born no form, worn to scorn

Adorn thorn;

The doors fall open with careless permission. Boulders crack to let the wild river by; clouds burst with rain they carried so the land can drink and flowers thrive.

A man who kneels, not because he has to, but by want; captured by a chosen pleasure, and one look into his reflection's eyes striking that certainty. He pushes the boulders farther apart to drink of the river between them.

Thunder echoes between its walls, rain runs down his face, and the wind claws at his hair, the air that pulls him closer to the warm stream. Contentment and awe duel in the roar of the rain as the mighty mountain falls away into the soft linen grass. His broad core rises and falls like it may burst beneath the rain water collected, still trickling down.

Precious is that which flows between the teeth of brass and iron;

Moving wordless, but not without speech, each second named by existence;

Each one place by place.

Even Father Time's hands shall slow down for those who watch moments.

He, like man, liberated by lifting weights from their shoulders.

Not a frown on his face.

Though few stand around to hear the clock that ticks and chimes as granted;

There are hands that turn their keys within the arbor rusted in;

Crimson-bloodied holes.

He watches without eyes as he measures his own masters' forget,

And the children turn to simpler things and never understand him.

Once admired by all.

His chimes have turned less bright, even in the light of the sun;

When moon comes to visit, he spooks his masters evermore.

Old friend turned stranger.

But his face is not forgotten by that which traces heart and stone;

His unseen master, whom never wound him but gave him purpose,

Before his maker.

Turned his gears with invisible sand and made him sing out,

Bestowed truth beyond the numbers that were etched on his dial.

Marks seen in all.

Though what the eyes see not, and mind disregards is oft forsaken,

That which has a face and moves its hands about, if he is cared for,

Your crown is my crescent, my sword be your wit Crimson might be spilled but I can stand another hit This wine will pour until igniting glory's bright spark Beheld by the world but only in your eyes of dark Kneel I before your hand lands firmly over my shoulder To level no man expects a regent of your order Calloused is your tattered skin, greying is your hair For what time has traced on your face, your heart it has so spared As I fall into the starless night of onyx eyes Them I wish to see before my satisfied demise How can the same dust of stars that crumble into me, Sculpt with lion's grace a man of April's warmth to be?

Emperor of smitten starlight, in his gaps my harbor Envelop me, mahogany, your embrace my armor Torment subsides as clouds part at the slip of his mask Anything more, my liege, my dear, I shall never ask.

Possessed by his mind until suddenly he is defined And an avalanche cascades from his heart As he encompasses the honour bestowed, of being seen.

Soft scorn, the forever winter.

Crawling out from the shore below ice

The only thing evergreens shed is light

Pious and grand with no need to look twice

Covered in forever snow, coat over coat

Like a favourite child clad by a mother pure

While her other children shiver, drenched and afloat

Of spring they sing, unknowing til when, but endure.

Sharp mercy parts the clouds with summer's keen sting

Out pouring flowers and birds by winged wind

Reach to the stream by the dazy sway

Let not its swift currents sweep you away

Drying mud fashioning cakes for the beavers

In its red palms holds the sun winter's leavers

Burning crows ashy and robins to crimson

Grey Flowers by my head

Grey Flowers by the bed

Grey Flowers never thought

Grey Flowers ever rot

Danced with the wind through fields

Glanced at the sun and trees

Torn by a morning’s hand

Far from the mourning land

Grey Flowers in a cup

Grey Flowers carried up

Grey Flowers dying slow

Grey Flowers no more grow

Fulfilled by early life

Strange to envy and strife

No soil was too unfit

For Grey Flowers to sit

Grey Flowers no more bloom

Grey Flowers gone by noon

Grey Flowers wilt with bliss