Who can restore the former glory?
The young sing and dance
Around this shell, this crude reminder,
They call beauty, as entranced.
Who would rob the hopeful babes,
Let beauty be seen where it can,
But we who held our temple proud
Will weep to the very last man.
Who can restore the former glory
Once it has been defaced?
Who can restore the innocence
Our aged hands debased?
Long and familiar, these nights arrive,
And I know the morning sun will sting.
Tomorrow I will fail to do, fail to thrive,
Because this night brings
Wide-eyed wakefulness.
It isn’t from fear or discontent,
Just mindfulness aware, satisfied
To let my sleep dissent
From the ruling rest that gratifies
Weary flesh.
What I have here
Is real, is good,
Is more than I should,
Above what I feared.
What I’ve held all these years
I’ve carried alone
I knew, on my own
My phantom wasn’t so dear.
Now I know the need is near
To cut the suture,
Kill the hope, free the future,
Burn the path clear.
To whom shall I confess this sin?
Who could understand why I, initially,
Preserved this love so artificially?
Why I persevered since then?
I swallowed the idea of you, when
All the world was lost, was dead,
The hope of you somehow fed
All I hoped could be, had been.
You trumped the worst of men
With quiet strength, faith, loyalty.
You were my royalty.
I would have died again, and again,
Death, separation, goodbye,
The best I could give, or you could receive,
Falling muted as an autumn leaf
Caught in the wind’s last sigh.
One hundred public admissions
Confessions, contrition,
Professions, transitions,
Hesitant at first, but resistance
Gives way to persistence-
An outward existence
From quiet submissions.
You’ve been waiting over an hour now,
If you’re still waiting there at all.
I haven’t even moved an inch-
I’d be grateful just to crawl.
While up and down the smokers waltz,
Sucking their Pall Malls.
Sitting still inside this heat,
My children dripping sweat,
Time slips into ridiculous.
Has it been two hours yet?
And all the world revolves, revolves,
But I haven’t moved a step.
You’re waiting now,
While I’m stuck here.
I’m not allowed
To drive any nearer.
I’m concerned with the longevity
And reasons for our lull.
I’ve no mode of connectivity
To tell you we are stalled.
Our battery is out of breath.
Windows all roll down,
But before us could be death,
And sorrows that compound.
Awaiting tragedy arrayed-
Saying a prayer for things I don’t know.
Our colorful caravan is stayed-
Pretty maids all in a row.
I type the keys, each letter rings
As piano notes all in ebony,
And I sing
I sing along.
I’ve walked the stanzas, stalked
Definitions until I balked
And revised
And refused.
This weeping language, seeping
Into all, still keeping me
Enthralled
And grounded.
My dead playmates, but I read
All the things they said
While they lived,
And I agreed.
I agreed.
Fool that I am
How many times I
Forget by and by
Learn the same lesson again
And again.
Fool that I was
How often refusing
To listen, still choosing
Ignorance because
I could.
Fool I will be
If I cannot remember
The cold of December
Passes to heat,
And seasons repeat.
I closed my eyes today
To let wind rush by me, inside me,
Stirring ancient love:
Timeless, resilient, free.
Expanding with quiet passion.
Was there ever another, but You?
Our history, a simple melody
You play every note true.
Your tune lifts me to heights
Immeasurable: swelling and swimming.
My love for You, its own force,
Serenading while ascending
Until the bottom drops out.
These ages, years of devotion,
Girded by self, numb my senses,
Transform music to commotion,
Still Your rhythm carries on.
What I know of love is You.
All my love is reflex;
A response to Your truth
And unending faithfulness.
A turn of phrase as a tourniquet.
Words built empires,
Supported spires.
Wisdom reads and learns the writ
Before burning it.
Walls of words, now my own,
Generations of thought
Globally sought.
Their understanding flown
Into my home.
Phonetic currency,
Golden words
Coins of the world
I live in the availability
Of history’s prosperity.
viewingcamelot 