a thought I once knew

to that which makes me sing
to that which makes me cry
for what may yield unto Elysium
that which makes me feel

solitude abrupt upon a pining heart
thou sung a tune which fade to soon
the love of life dries within the dew
to die to soon would be the sin I could not abide

the morning birds part from thy window
and death greats me in my parlor chair
he does stay and I do not go away
he only say’s “far be it from me to intrude”

lapping thoughts I dare not consume
that which is tomorrow always comes too soon
the days I sit and think about you
those are the thoughts that bear me through


a wait unto a summer spring

it is as lilies basked in the reposing sun
a stream of light illuminating the hues of early spring
as all the cherubs could neither play nor the sirens sing
such a beauty painted in the mind and felt in the soul
for glee is trivial to that I may feel
for when she gives her love to me


A midnight stranger upon the open green
Goes unto the doors and greet those within
Upon what imagination there may never be
To settle for or end alone and never meet the stranger

A field basked in the moonlight covered in early snow
Upon it walks a lover all alone as he goes to and fro
Basked within the moonlight he is smitten in remembrance
And thus midnight stranger comes unto silhouetting the moon

Such a time without a sound or a voice to call one’s own
Unformed to what he is ever meant to be looking what he may become
Within the tide caressing the sand to uniform time at hand
The midnight stranger comes only to being when he is formed in the hearts of thee

seen to be

for a thousand realities ever to or never to be
manifestations of smitten thoughts made graven unto thee
unto a worldly care of idolization of one’s forced being
all I ever know are the pages of present unfolding in front of me
forever the pages are to come folding one by one
you are one in the page that is now, what will be known as then
I could be a fantasist and dream that you are in the pages to come
A reality I feel no control to materialize yet I would not mind if it was so
Such pretension in my words yet I mean them so
Therefore to be then, now or forever to be, either one would be fine with me
For such delights of companionship I could only dream
And such ways of loneliness are perceived to ever be
Yet in the pages folding one by one I feel nothing those I have yet to see

nocturne storm

The gentle rain upon the forest leaves
Escalating down unto the ground to puddle and seep
The cottonwoods stand firm as the winds blow strong
It is dark and the night is a ways to come
as of yet it is still day within the gloom of dark overcast
the lightening makes a momentary brightness
as the thunder rolls as a stamped of bison throughout the clouded sky
the rabbits burrow and the does and bucks all hide
the stream rises and submerges the picturesque fields near by
as a final burst of rain floods the space where air resides
it gently comes to a piddle unto a halt
the larks start to sing and petrichor fills the air
thus the end of the prose the nocturne storm

dearest forever

Quilted sense of natures everlasting kiss
Upon the dewed meadow green early in spring
Walk with me upon the quintessential fields of elysian realms
Let us drink from fountains that do us well
Walk the trails blazed by angles themselves
My darling let us lay under the tapestry of the silhouetted night sky
And as the beats of winter simmer unto none
My dearest forever, remember me well

too be

Not knowing what I want from life
All I know is don’t want to be alone
It’s but a weight upon my ever diminishing being
I write of beauty and love and that which is forever
yet how I know these things are unclear
as though a play I have seen yet never a part of it
that is what life is to me to truly know yet never to be