Stories and Dirges

III

2008-08-25T01:18:00.000-04:00

A sonnet's just a lyric after all
A song, a verse, a poem: the act's the same
Conviction of a mind, the playing hall
The actor, pen to paper; life the frame

An audience designs itself, in vain,
For fair interpretation of a musing
They cite, quote and dissect. In short they feign
To "understand," each definition bruising

And whether that such skill be lacking of
Some larger wellspring of eternal truth,
To craft belief's portrayal is a love
encompassing the ends; the means uncouth.

Yet though our final curtain holds our sight,
The final rite that makes us right is: write.

II

2008-08-18T23:28:00.003-04:00

Oh, little boy, don't ever lose your way
You're never lost, and that's what orders me
As dark arrives here at the end of day
You've gone away again, and I can't see

Oh child in the background, hover near
You light the way for all of us in kind
I craft you of my doubts and dreams and fears
I seek you, hope you're never far behind.

I sleep to find my youth's abandon gone
I wake, tormented by your unrestraint
I'm found displeased, disturbéd by the dawn
Of your adult; 'tis my unique complaint.

You child of my soul, my mind, my eyes
I hide you in maturity's disguise.

I

2008-08-18T00:37:00.001-04:00

As light doth near beyond the Palisades
The echo of the twilight's glow remains
My sweet intent appears as heaven fades
The remnant of a different nights refrains

But every story has been writ before,
And every dirge and number has been versed
We search for something different, new and more,
Though ev'ry circumstance has been rehearsed.

I dream a vision of a diff'rent love,
Of novelty and life's experiment,
The joy of earth beneath and sky above,
The beauty of a pleasure yet unspent

But this illusion, doubt doth overthrow,
Yet still I pray, one day, to find...to know.