Monday, January 16, 2012



His eyes looked longingly to the east,

As his soul howled forth the echoes of reflection.

This white glove conceals an open hand,

as his bones which tread softly shudder in the wind.

The child of misery is baptized into tears,

whose yesterdays look backward with the face of despair.

Listen, hear, eddies of silence.

As darkness casts no shadow.

Senses cutting sight,

Eternity's flashed are remembered in the moment.

A twisted scream, a vivid dream,

reach out, Oh child, reach out.


Now I plunge my pen against the page and scribble toward a purpose unperceived. For here within my fragile fractured frame, I am no more a poet than a rose; and though the visions I do view, bid beauty to my meaning (my muse is busied elsewhere, nursing other selves). Therefore unfailingly I fall into shadow, baptized by merciless melancholy. Enabled to imbue with silhouette of shadow a bit of martyred matter, from so faint a slate as this, I would label it as mine (ostensibly): mine to brag of, mine to burn; but when I feature feelings from the fire, they float away from me, like writing on the water.


The solemn soul rages, the unfeeling feel.

With the veiled vehemence of the unreal.

So I, in the idea of your minds unwon.

Am as the real in the unreal undone.

Let thy light so shine that all may see, visions of immortality.

Whatever it means it matters,

And most of it is true.

And I loved everyone of them,

And all of them were you.

Let thy light so shine that all may see, visions of immortality.

                                                                                                        A.'. A.'.

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