Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not

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Though Lovers be Lost Love shall Not

Whatever talents I possess
May suddenly diminish or disappear
In my education was beauty
I had to write indiscriminately
For with eyes such as mine
Time was the lovers lost
And a kind of rage against the dying light
Whatever poems I wrote
Were a kind of toast to the worlds
That if this star should go extinct
I might burn one last bridge with a song
And if posterity learn to look after itself
Never be lucid, never state
That you have found yourself
For poetry was the function of a journey
And it won’t end with you or I
It will go on as long as doubt, questions
And beauty and suffering exists.

Author’s Prologue


My life has been an author’s prologue
Godsped the days of summer’s end
That let me love, and forget to write
My hands trembling, at my seashaken house

With the foam of the Gods spraying me
Until my lucky stars fall into sunset’s net
Eternal waters tackle me into the clouds
I kneel with my fishwife by the coast

Where I stab heavenly birds with beloved eyes
All I have known and seen has come to this –
The poor peace of a timeless song
The rest beyond pan and flute and melody

And a comfort beyond prayers and pain
My life has been an author’s prologue
And as a poet to a thousand strangers
I gave my heart, the fire of birds
The world’s turning light, that is never enough.

Photography Credits:

God Sped Summer

God sped are Summer’s heights
As if the Eternal crown of days
These days are winding down
Like youth’s prologue, happy & sweet

Tangled with cherries, fishwife kisses
Tackled with clouds, of opaque innocence
Shells of the life that speak to the Seven Seas
These are times when the night catches
The peace of strangers, to be merry
No matter the sacrifices we bear
God sped are Summer’s sighs
That linger yearning, passionate

In the nets of sunsets, wood’s dancing hooves
The dusks burn bright with the bluest
Fountainheads of dreams, the flood begins
The flickering beauty of our star-lit days

God sped are the singsong owls
Of moonbeam talks, reverent looks
Sacred delays in time, the cooing hand
The praise of joys ready to begin

The waters cluck and cling, to Summer
Drinking to the ancients, across
The shoal of the greatest of comforts
These are the last loves we treasured.

Photography Courtesy: