Forgive Me

 
Her eyes became and swam in shade,
their gardens and moonlit paths she’d strolled me,
she, unrelentingly beautiful along, had become silent endlessly
and mindful and time ridden, and
demolished.

My darkness, self-loathing of bloodened years of murderous war
and covert savagery, brackish and dark for empty causes,
had taken, stealth-like, a lilt from my eyes,
for she was my braid of all mysteries and fables
she had so cherished for me

She tried to gather me earthen, played wood spirit rhythms,
in the night she’d touch and I’d love her back
but I was a solo melody
of some self
made tragedy
certain of time,
its dependable resistance

to time.


Statuesque, ardent as Spring petals
upon glistened baby bird beaks.
she romances the ground and its children
like a lover, now, and they take her away on winds.

I contemplate their flight and all shining things.


In chaos beautiful among these, and dusk, dawn
her curve and fables recapture me within, at last again
completely, myself, hour by hour each day.


Within this garden of all chords and symphonies,
a solo in harmony unforgetful, at last,
I became, I cry through my poems and darkest writing
so that others may remember on time

the delicateness of time,
and the inability of pain to keep up
with an
ardent heart.