A labor of the heart
Is fickle for breaks time may yet impart;
Yet hearts all given up to labor
May find that flesh bears yet no flavor
Such that withered bones
Gilded on those rusted thrones
Reach evermore for other’s flames
To find the hearth within lies tamed.
No soul, within mortality leashed
Can ill afford to rush time’s feast.
Ours may yet be to wonder why,
But think too long and there you’ll lie.
Life’s purpose is the lurking feeling
That man must find his own life’s meaning.
Divinity in a smile
These eyes, like stars alight
To stoke the fires of this passionate
Elation, embrace of thought
That tickles yet the nervous breath
Coiling through the nerves—
Watching this Mirage
Deception of romance
Serpentine coils of medusan gaze
Wrapping around this memory
Of a man, once knowing
These lines, unrestricted,
Entwining about his heart.
The portrait and the face
Smiling through the frown
Of this imaginary madness
We’ve come to call a life
Will this define
Your perception of meaning?
What dreams we greet
To hide the nightmare