A Poem: A Lover's Dream

Beauty and Grace like spring flowers be
in you my love, though not to me
do your eyes turn with heaven's gleam,
for it is another that such faint heart's esteem.

Another indeed, who has many battles won,
and great armies led beneath the cresting sun.
Wealth, fortune, and immortal fame,
all these can affection's object claim.

And yet I too have battles won,
and deeds as great as his have done.
Oft less in fame, in lands grown cold,
among the huddled sick, the weak and old.

Though now I see with God's eye plain
that were all tales told, t'would be in vain.
For true valor's color finds not your thought.
Only the echo of false shadows sought.

And I? I sit with aching head,
as I lie slowly down to bed.
To dream my minds eye didn't see,
all that is, but what should be.

-M

A Poem: An Apology

What words from this poor heart did come
to take from you my sweet love's flame?
What soul-less beast did I become,
that even my lips forsake their name?
Oh Dearest love of heaven's grace,
would that I could see you now.
And with a gentle touch replace,
my words with this, love's truest vow.
All sights we shall, with eyes entwined
behold with hands in soft embrace.
And beyond these mortal cares confined,
let unworthy words my soul replace.

-M

A Poem: Evermore

Bright Star, in heaven shining, immortal light of truth beguiling
what strength of soul must I reveal to see your light no more?
Jest not at mortal gaze forlorn, that hopes and dreams my eyes adorn
and let instead my feet rest upon the distant shore.
Let all my prayers be answered there upon that distant shore.
Let me know you, evermore.

Let me know you, light of time beginning, ancient answers with you bringing,
and let me know from whence you came and from what masters door.
Past earthly touch of passion, fleeting, all purposes with it defeating,
let me tread the silent steps unending I implore!
On bended knee head bowed and set with passion I implore!
Light embrace me, evermore.

Oh, this question burns unending, and now each whole night I am spending,
with pen in hand by moonlight and this book upon the floor.
To what timeless trick am I enthralled, thickly bound to dreams recalled,
and visions cracked and facing seeing through Saint Peter's door?
To feel the endless sands that lie just steps beyond the door.
Can I stay here, evermore?

-M

A Poem: She

She cries, and God is mistaken.

The high heavens surely must be jealous.
For angels, tried and true above the ugly of man,
to swallowed by the sphere of one living.
And to be so admired by the soldiers of righteousness.

She smiles, and the sun is put in shadow.

With beauty worthy of the azure sea itself.
Twin celestials shine, beacons of hope,
above the rivers of rose beneath the golden sky.
Surrounded in eternal perfection by the finest of God's coverings.

She looks, and death feels alive.

The creeping dark scatters under her piercing gaze.
Men feel their consciousness burned, spirits swirl with envy.
Angels of the highest graces rise and fall with her beating heart,
and time pauses to observe the passing of perfection.

She cares, and doubt removes itself.
She adores, and the righteous cry.
She loves, and one finds the perfection he sought,
here in the arms of the best of all things.

-M