2600 year old poem


Pain penetrates
but exists as fast as it came
suffering is like that too

love lingers and leaves its imprint
a drop, by drop, like a fountain
inside of me, like an ocean

around me, the source
life exudes
a warm embrace

even if this world is crooked
corrupt, cold, anonymous
by the light

of the silvery moon
I want to spoon
To my honey

I will croon
my love of nature
all the way home

The Worthiness to Die


I know loneliness one dare
Not sound, so grave that friends depart
The alarm that leads to inner scrutiny
And horrors not be surveyed

The gloom of youth with no resolve
Skirted in the dark, under lock
Of our brief taste of tragedy
That does not depart so easily

I fear that loneliness is one of my
Prime emotions, that illuminates
My caverns and corridors
But am I alone in this?

I do not know, I suffer
As best I can, with brief wisdom
And hampered forgiveness
For cowardice or weakness I am not sure

And friends too few, and charity
Only given, and lovers
That leave before they truly know
I know loneliness one day

Not watched, that poverty expounds
The hardship of living a minority
Without but a wave of gold
I know loneliness like a jewel

With so much weight, and worthiness
And a strange hunger to die
Before one truly knows how to live.


Featured Artist:


Plato Does not Speak of This


I have learned to despise in myself
What those I loved left me for –
They are not here with me now, I must deal
With the sun and moon for my pillows

The grief of lonely years, the dust of doorways
And years of half-grain and empty homes
Cold rooms, half chaff, no jewels
I have learned to accept in myself

What those I once sought, did not value
For only I must truly, live with myself
The others, they do not sweeten this bitter sea
They give and retreat, without loyalty

As a thorn opens into a rose, my throat and lungs
Beg the light for an execution place
Where I will wail and be thirsty for my own blood
Purified, as the Nile once flowed beside my limbs

I was never a warrior, but a humble worshiper
My dead eyes did look into your living eyes
and I cried, for love’s work looks absurd at times.

Something that Died in December


I have the least community
Of anyone I know, the emotions of a poet
I was once a green branch in the wind

The reed that bends from a drop of water
I am it seems, too far from home
To remember the language

Of that strange gathering, how you held
The tambourine, love’s king
Never wept for me, I did not stop anywhere

For long, like a lonely light-footed nomad
I was as the breeze, which carried
The ocean inside of it, so beneath

The ability to love, the duty to stay
Nobody loved me back to my senses
Instead, they smiled at me like a lost cause.