Milk and Honey
With head ever still, Listening for her heart’s trill, Feeling its message. Soft as downy are her breasts, My mind now quietly rests.
Cradled in pure silk,
Her perfect whiteness of milk.
A scent of honey,
On her body I inhale,
It covers me like a veil.
Holding this moment,
If it could be permanent.
Branded in my heart!
But there’ll be thoughts to destroy,
This warming feeling of joy.
Here’s the Promised Land.
Not questioning love’s command.
More than my desire.
Feelings of being wanted,
When counted among the aged.
She touched me gently.
For a moment thought to flee!
Why I asked myself.
Her lips so soft on my skin,
Such a feeling felt within.
My heartbeat quickened,
As my breathing burgeoned. I will soon explode! The heat accelerated, To the point my heart shattered.
Speechless, I am prone.
Above me as if a drone,
With a ravenous hunger,
She warns that I not bestir.
A sign she did send,
To a desire she must tend.
I do not resist!
For I too am now aroused,
There’s in me a hunger housed.
Love, I am your slave.
No attempt my heart to save.
To cease dreams of her,
Where I’m always a beggar.
She not willing to barter.
I’ve promised my soul
To her, yet her heart is coal.
Darker than the night.
Could it be she is afraid,
What I give but a charade?
She does not listen.
My each advance she does shun,
But seeks her solace,
In the smiles I have to give.
Eager to hold me captive.
The sage shakes his head,
In caring of what I’ve said.
Won’t offer pity,
As my plight will not cause death,
But be pain with every breath.
Love can be a curse!
Its pain, there can be no worse!
Impossible to undo,
Until death does call for you!
After posting 524 poems to my blog, I will be going silent. It is not for the lack of desire to write, but the painful misery inside my head. For days I have tried to compose. Previously I have found that at times I could fight through the pain. At this moment it is no longer possible. I hope the hiatus will be brief.
Cornfields and Crows, Vincent Van Gogh (1890) Cornfield
The rolling, cooling air was moving in
Bringing with it grey cotton in the sky.
My body showing its October skin
Freckled, speckled sand and extremely dry.
Standing before me they command their ground
Soldiers by the thousand within my view.
Flaying and wailing cried a morbid sound
Be but one victor when the day is through.
Aggressively attacked the left, it’s war!
Superior power, mowing them down.
No, but before me appeared countless more.
Was steadfast, mowing down those stalks of brown.
Cleaned the tractor and all its cutting gear,
The cornfield now sleeps ’til early next year.
Anguish to Overcome
Years of solid misery has expired,
Not giving final wish that was desired.
My many thoughts continued to be mired,
Crashing in my mind from being cross fired.
Nightmares into my mind insist to creep,
Denying me of beneficial sleep.
Resulting in times of chaotic weep,
Killing any creative thought may reap.
There is a feeling that keeps me going,
Everyday so eager to be sowing.
Into every heart that I am touching,
Is my love that is constantly flowing.
This unceasing love in its total sum,
Provides the strength, anguish to overcome.
Evening, Edvard Munch (1888) Evening
A time between the bright heat of the sun
And the cool darkened shadows of the moon
A time to consider what has been done
And what’s to be accomplished very soon
It is not a time for melancholy
Nor to be consumed by fanciful dreams
As both will lead to dangerous folly
Creating vicious pain from mental screams
Evening is not a time to hesitate
For the eyes will begin to get heavy
The mind soon unable to contemplate
Important to plan the future wisely