In weeping agony
I cursed the day
You were taken
Away from me.
Giuseppe Tartini – Sarabande
Category: Poetry
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Roses are carried and wept over.
When petals are withered they mourn.
Roses rest when their stems are worn;
They are carried by black carriages horse drawn.
Of the soil they were made, to the soil they return;
Sometimes they are placed in wooden boxes and burned,
Or wrapped in white linen, then given to the vastness
Where violent winds blow, and restless seas churn. -
Night breezes sooth restless trees;
Butterflies sleep in an array of colorful wings.
In anticipation of the light of the dawning,
Songbirds sing. -
On that day under blue skies
Their eyes were bright, and the children smiled.
Arms outstretched to the side,
They ran and took off,
Flying for the first time;
And in those precious moments
They became gods,
If only for a little while. -
When I couldn’t love, you loved me.
When I couldn’t see, you guided me.
When I couldn’t hear,
Still, you whispered to me lovingly.
When I was cold,
In your rapture you embraced me.
In the throes of death, you revived me.
When I slept, you kissed me;
When I reached for you, you held me.
When I was listless, you willingly
Rendered to me your energy.
When I was misunderstood,
You listened to me patiently.
When they ridiculed me,
You explored the depths of me;
When the fires of hell scorched me,
You quenched me, and wrapped me
In the white wings of your glory.
If we were few and they were many,
Still, you would go to war with me fearlessly.
In battle you exhibit your ferocity,
while still retaining your femininity;
I love you;
If they were to come for you,
They would have to first face me;
And with my own blood upon me,
I would whisper to you in dying breaths,
Baby, slay them faithfully.
I marvel at your beauty;
I see you through loving eyes,
And touch you with the sincerity
Of the blood that flows within me.
You were there; You were there for me
After the treachery of my own family.
I was alone in the wilderness of desolation,
And you sent for me.
Void of feelings, you revived me
With the healing of your sensuality.
I render to you all that I am,
And all that I have eternally. -
End of summer near
Leaves fall like endless tears
Soon winter will be here -
Willows weep
Night breeze rustles summer leaves
Quiet rivers sleep -
The ecstasy of you
Are midnight whispers
And Beautiful laughter
In late summer.
Broken I came to you;
The remnants of my soul,
You collected patiently
And made whole.
I love you sincerely;
The scent of your essence
And the lingering of your aura
Move me.
Stay with me.
Passionately,
I inhale you, slowly. -
I have loved you from the inception of my creation;
My longing shadow kisses your reflection.
I will love you always, is my solemn declaration.
In your sleep, I whisper to you loving words,
And long held utterances unheard.
An angel sleeps.
Dark waterfalls flow on pillows;
Polaris sheds tears of joy,
Like the bristling of leaves, when light breezes
Blow against the willows.
Blue silk drapes over the countenance of a goddess.
I behold you, under the glow of soft light flawless.
If I ever in any way hurt you,
With weeping, my soul repents,
In this life and the next. -
Blood in battle;
The wailing of men in agony;
A king’s sword with the blood of his enemies;
Men of war with many great victories;
Relics and precious jewelry handed down through the centuries;
The vastness of halls with fire against walls;
A gorgeous queen in all her glory;
Men of great inventions,
And scribes who write your story.
Subjects who swear their loyalty;
The overindulgence; the feasting;
The splendor of royalty.
The conquering of kingdoms,
And the taking of lands;
The spoils of war;
The world in jeweled hands.
The jealousy;
The betrayal;
The waywardness of daughters,
And sons who are ungrateful.
The continued poisoning of meat;
The drunkenness of a disconsolate king in his seat;
The emaciation of the once mighty;
The thinness;
The gauntness;
The sickness.
In his own kin, the eyes of treachery.
The discovery of dark ambition, inadvertently.
To live, he must now kill his enemy;
By the light of the morning,
A first born son will be no more.
The decision of a king;
The falling of a legacy.
The cold, discolored skin;
The heaviness of the heart of a king.
The silence of death;
The agony.
The torment of finality.
The renting of kingly robes;
The heavy head of a king on his throne;
The canker;
The weeping.
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