Rain has been falling for quite some time now,

The dazzling dew drops gently alighting upon the scenery.

There stands a figure, huddling under the his pine tree,

The thin needles barely covering him.

This lonely traveler seems to be lost,

Confused in the grove of trees surrounding him.

But he knows he needs to move on, there has to be a better shelter,

A better house to hold his worries, to keep out his fears, and keep him safe.

So he walks on, hunched over as if in age, looking for more,

For hours, or days, but it seems the night never passes,

The moon never falls for the sun.

Coming to a hill, the figure stops.

Here he pulls himself up, straightening his bent back,

Raising his head, and gazing out into the distance;

There he stands, a silhouette against the vanilla twilight.

All of Poseidon’s fury, gathered into one malevolent gust,

Rocking the mansions of the rich, blasting the shacks of the poor,

It swallows the criminals, and deals punishment to the just.

The wind swirls, ripping up everything its path,

Pieces of the world caught in its forceful grip.

Wailing grief is the crop of its wrath,

With deadly scythe swinging, it falls onto the people below strip by strip.

In broiling heat the steadfast worker swings,

Racing against the fall of the sun,

Unable to look forward at what its deadly passion brings,

Unable to see if the rose will wither or if the battle will be won.

Such as my heart, it is caught atwixt passion and despair in lashes of nettle,

Waiting for the rose to bloom or the shadow to fall, waiting for the dust to settle.

And so I wonder, sweetest love, if I
Should drink this ruby wine, or rather weep;
Each tear a bezel with your face engraved,
A rosary to memorize your name…

There are so many ways to call you back-
Yes, even if you only were a dream

White froth spews from the jaws of the deep,

Awakening the resting creatures from their sleep.

All aquatic life is in chaos, the turtles dash

To the shore, and the fish scurry back to their coral stash.

Listen to them weep,

All their fears and worries pile them into a heap,

Leaving them for dead, life spewing from every gash.

The sea is the most peaceful residence of all;

From whatever fear and chaos is happening outside

Those creatures are free.

Likewise I have set up that wall.

But like when despair occurs where they innermost reside,

Where does that leave me?

I’ll be your anchor when night falls;

Against all elements I’ll hold on tight,

I won’t let you drift away into the night.

The wicked wind unfurls your sails; they drop like palls,

And the cold ocean spray tries to batter down your walls.

Just hold on to me during this fright,

My warm embrace keeping us warm ’til light,

Just listen to me whisper your name while Poseidon calls.

All through the night i count down the time

Until this storm blows away,

Until I can wake up beside you and your sleepy smile.

Those precious moments in the morning so sublime;

All I can think of now is another storm going astray,

And how, just for that moment, I will toil every last mile.

I’m sick of this pain,

Please let me smile,

It’s driving me insane.

I’m looking for things to do that would take you off my mind,

Something to make me feel like new;

But all I can think about is if I could rewind,

And woo you to love me as I do you.

But alas,

I’m cursed to love you from afar,

Never to get to close,

It’s like some never healing scar.

So I stay away,

Seemingly shy,

My cover never goes astray,

And I nonchalantly pass by.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.