Thursday, May 19, 2011


Their meadows of spring are desolate now
yet desire for them
lives always in our heart
never dying.
These are their ruins.
These are our tears
in memory of those
who melt the soul forever.
I called out, following after
love-dazed
You so full with beauty
I've nothing!
I rolled my cheek in the dust of love
tender, in rage
By appeal to the right of desire for you
don't shatter the heart
Of a man drowned in his words
burned alive
in sorrow.
Nothing can save him now
You want a fire?
Go easy. This passion
is incandescent. Touch it.
It will light your own.

0 poetic mutterings: