All that has left

All that has left
So silently,
Wanders among weeds,
Savors sweat as wine
And carnal company…

What of the eastern sun
Which never sets?
What of the whispered tongue
Upon a lovers lips?

All that has left,
Parted with the wind,
And the warmth beneath
The dearest wing.

Sing…
Sing…
Sing…
What of the eastern sun
Which never sets?
What of the whispered tongue
Upon a lovers lips?

I know love
Lets no wicked rest.
And I know grace
Weighs heavy
Upon my chest.

Here we are

How should we be,
In these gardens
Of starlight vines
And blooms of memory?

Is ours the music
In the tip-toe
Of times fragrance?

…our kiss the question
Of when childhoods
Last spoke?

We are,
As the Sun and Moon
Nesting in our eyes,
Careless…

 

 

A moment passed

The wind I had felt was by no mistake,
Yet you lay on me, as a rose petal
Would drift down the Tigris night
Upon milky waters,
Between the forgotten seasons;
Where the spirit is intoxicated in divine limbo.
And I beg the sun to lose my self through the sky,
A thousand droplets, a thousand prayers,
A thousand pages, a thousand doves
To keep you aloft?
This is how I blushed upon your cheek
Naked before the world.
Between the banks of an ancient Song,
Where poets lost themselves,
She drowned in me.

Now I rage, rage against time,
To carve a canyon where humanity will
Lose itself!
How will you shout
Through my encompassing emptiness?
Match my dust with tears and prove me wrong!
Oh to be once again
A seam in the sand…
At the mercy of morning dew.
Shout and sing from the depths
Of my empty tomb.
Only a stranger can feel
And call upon this past to ruin.
How many generations do I call forth?
How many will then dig for truth?