( a love letter to M)
With you I long so much to feel safe,
like Samson lulled softly to sleep
in the sweet world of Delilah's warm and fragrant lap.
And would that he never wakens
to the stern chiding of the sun, his father with its cruel dawn showing
the shorn hair strewn across the floor,
and outside, the now pale morning moon
Whose silver light the night before led to the lamp-lit bedroom window.
Having ignored in reckless arrogance,
(but in my case, it could have been a desperate loneliness goading me on)
the ominous and stealthy shadows
of Gazites armed and waiting behind the diaphanous curtains.
at the start of this long road which leads to the tower which imprisons you?
I wonder what wiseman, what oracle to go to
to innure myself against the evil spells, demons which i carry with me,
the ones which i am yet to encounter?
For my house is a desolate house.
The vast shadows of dragons now cross the once opulent courtyard.
The walls bridged, now have all gone the way of Jericho.
Bushes , weeds, brambles & ocassionally wild roses bloom
where hedge gardens reminiscent of Nebuchadnezzar's once stood.
And i am the last left of my father's house.
Along with my brother guilt who won't forgive me for outlasting
my older brothers, more skilled with sword or spear than one like me
could ever dream of being. More accomplished or familiar with the things of the world.
and therefore fitter to meet the danger, the challenge
which now quake me.
Armed with a sword too long for me;
an armor too heavy, too hot to bear
and a young steed, still unbroken, standing uneasy beneath me,
I am spurred only by that pure vision of your face which remains
the only thing undefiled by the ogres, cyclopes & wargs;
& that fragrant promise of your betrothal.
But then they came. Laid the land and my family waste .Left me for dead.
After marking the kingdom's roads with pyramids of whitened skulls,
they took you and trapped you in that tower
guarded by villianous knights and snake-tailed dragons.
I pray now, less for strength against the gruesome creatures
which enabled this grey fate, than I pray
for strength against those petty demons of fear & doubt & guilt
which have made such a fruitful nest of my bosom.
Dream
Your lips are a pair
of tart & purple seagrapes
am dying to pick.
Precarious
Butterfly, struggling
gainst the cold breeze--beautiful
yet frail, like a dream.
Friend
Dawn. & light touches
the lonely hill's green shoulder
warm, gentle--like you.
