The Angels gently walked
within those boundaries set by our Lord just north of Eden.

The river shallowed in the early morn
of this second day,

and as the sparrows delicately called upon
her nestlings to hush just north of eden.

 From the dust of the earth
God and his creation of life

Whisper to me pretentiously
about my awakenings,

for I know not who I am anymore...

and all my insights shall one day be revisable.

Hold me close within you formidably,

for I know not how long life shall be...
and these preconceptions of my soul can sometimes be bitter...

Beckon unto me...

without the power of idealistic compilations,

for I know not how to reply.
To An Angel In Heaven.

So..
Whisper to me.

Impetuously,

I have assimilated these stars in heaven for you.

For I have loved impiously..
beyond those said stars above.

Remorseful.

Of all the wasted moments in my life
from you,

and now my emotional tribulations undefined shall never be explained.

Imperiously.

I have manipulated your heart
and denounced my soul for you.

Death sleeps within these shadows
that make claim of my heart.

I shall not repent to heaven nor man

The wind confessed to her softly
as the moon repented
within silence,
of the moment.

And as the stars glistened upon her she would twirl spawning tears,

With an exuberance of bright shadows and reflections pictured within the silhouettes indecisively deprived by God.

She seeped through the willows of time
hollowed with beauty,
splendor, and mystery.

Smile at me again,

You know I am your friend,

Yet, you leave me not a candle in the dark;

Lady, I had reason

To believe in changeless season,

And in dogs that do not bite and seldom bark…

Daughter of the Elderbroc,

Sister turned to wine,

Mother of my child and of my pain:

I tried to paint my seasons

To the colors of your reasons,

Devoid of rhyme, time and time again…

Did it happen so slowly that we missed it?

This old heart says I’ve sinned…

Sit here breaking no new ground,

I’m only breaking wind,

But, in the grand tradition,

I burn the midnight lamp,

And sit here, poised with pen in hand:

An imperious knight,

With a serious Writer’s Cramp…

With miles to go before I reach

The City of my dreams,

Where poets walk the streets and each

Writes poetry by the reams;

Yet, in the corner where I stand

The ticking of the clock

There’s whispers on the wind,

The air is rife with rumours:

Tonight more boys are coming in!

Silently, in pairs or single:

Some are men, some hardly boys.

Some, with money in their pockets,

Some, with bullets in their toys.

Too young to understand their orders,

But the children living there

Know Death comes across the borders:

Fear hangs heavy in the air…

Now, from every post and steeple:

Incendiary rhymes;

I hope that you will understand:

I have no need to win her heart-

I just have years of need to know,

Did she understand the part

Of me she saw so many years ago,

One April night, when time stood still?

She'd looked into an emptiness

That only you have filled…

Embarrassed by old memories,

I search for shreds of dignity,

Some token that says she had seen

And recognised that it had been

An involuntary cry, whose cause

Orphanell, on a rainy day,

On an afternoon in June-

Though you wish your man would stay

You know that’s crying for the moon-

But, through your silent teacup storms,

Through lonely days like these,

Oh, Orphanell, I share your stormy seas…

Orphanell, you have a friend:

You have a saving grace-

Through afternoons without an end,

In such a lonely place-

Because, one rainy afternoon,

Beneath dark loaded skies,

Did you unload the sadness in your eyes. 

PART I: GARDEN IN THE SKY

Exploding supernova in a Western sky:

Mystic dark portent, or the evil eye?

Seems every hour another star in our galaxy dies:

Tell me, where did all the Appleweed take root

In our garden in the sky?

Like faceless marionettes in some grotesque display,

Contorted caricatures from some frightening play;

Sometimes, it seems that all our dreams of Passion’s endless spark

Are lost in green, or torn in twain, we take

Small solace in the dark…