In bright halts of petals and wreaths
a vivid scene of floating calm
twists on a reed's helix of turns
and rolls across subtle, imageless thoughts
into gravity's journey downhill.
In vivid halts of petals and wreaths,
in each breath we exhale,
speak soft in warm ennobling cadence
for a world descends in perfect grief.
A perishing vision sees
what can't be seen, as I envision
these startling petals and wreaths,
retribution failing to flit its harp
or stage its muse. Here its mimic,
an imperfect order draws darkness
over no less profound a heart.
What will not burn, we set to fire;
what can't be held send
into sleep, into turn by gentle turn
of ring worn age, covetable grace
beauty, sadness and you spread
over this air-woven awning of clouds
to defy life's strange author
whose groves we supplant
with unchallenged wind.
In brights halts of petals and wreaths
what can't be tasted, swallow
what can't be said, speak.
Sow only shadows into moonlight,
plant only love, as regret
starts each day at sunset.
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**This work is copyrighted by David Sutherland. (dsutherland@calldei.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
-------------------------------------------------------------------------**This work is copyrighted by D.L. Spencer (Emailspenc@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
quasimodo
Things would be easier if you could contain my heart;
I almost wish I could find solace in your arms.
I might be content if I could find a sparkle in your eyes.
If, in you, I could find what you've found in me,
maybe I could be happy.
Things would be easier if I could let you inside;
I almost wish I could open myself to your soul.
I might be content if I could find a desire for your kiss.
If, in you, I could find what completes you in me,
maybe I could be happy.
Things would be easier if I could, with you, be at home;
I almost wish I could be satisfied by your presence.
I might be content if I could find a warmth in your embrace.
If, in you, I could fin what you need in me,
maybe I could be happy.
Things would be easier if I could see you with closed eyes;
I almost wish I could be overwhelmed by your beauty.
I might be content if I could find poetry in your smile.
If, in you, I could find what you saw as perfection in me,
maybe I could be happy.
Things would be easier if I could give myself to you;
I almost wish I could love you.
I might be content if I could find inspiration in your being.
If, in you, I could find what gifts you found in me. . .
Maybe I could be happy.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **This work is copyrighted by DyrkHawke. (DyrkHawke@aol.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**
In a hundred years from now
Will we live in peace?
Will we learn to truly love?
Will all dissension cease?
In a hundred years from now
Will needed cures be found?
Will we ease all suffering
And help the sick be sound?
In a hundred years from now
Will robots do our chores?
Will we travel to the stars
And open now closed doors?
In a hundred years from now
Will man rule this earth?
Will he learn what he must know
Of love and its real worth?
------------------------------------------------------------------------- **This work is copyrighted by Sheila B. Roark (sheila.roark@iname.com). Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author**