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. . . Sleep so Softly

Updated on June 9, 2017
kenneth avery profile image

Kenneth has been a member of HubPages for five years. He is retired from a 23-year career in the weekly newspaper business.

Her dreaded sadness.
Her dreaded sadness. | Source

Sleep so softly, sweet honeysuckle heart
Though our pastures were not the greenest
We never saw our bridge apart.

Sigh so softly, slumbering night away
Though our hands were not always idle
We joined our youth until elder of day.

Dream so softly, young woman of purity
Stay silent while I open the curtains
To scare away your fear of uncertainty.

Awake 'til many hours, oh dreaming soul
Walk easy when the dark villain shall rise
Only you were made in His silver mold.

Fear touches not a hair, oh gentle daughter
And talk softly to lost memories so fine
Your steps measured--walk near the altar.

Nightingale speaks her lowly song, oh graceful hand
Ne'er seeking enough, ne'er giving a stand
But basking slowly in lost spirit's high band.

Sit quietly, oh glistening lover of mine
Let me hold one hand with sunrise twine
Speak to me in sonnet while we linger in the wine.

Shades of cold walls comin', oh carried one today
I go with you and sort off the today's
I bow in your love--in love bowing to a lover's name.

Sleep Softly: Aftermath in Misty Garden

Gently, amiably, she moves unseen veil of life
Not seeking abode, victuals, or mellowed strife.
But holding her noble head upward high
Now latching onto the title wife.

A touch for slighting moment slinks by
While underneath, serpents die and see no sky.
Chanting a lowly view from linen window she flies.
A lowly giggle a bite of stew in sequence thrice.

While my bones remains stationary as trunk just sawed
My riches, those I had, I gave her crying with claw.
But her past, her present life atones
Surrendering sunlight's bloodied wounds in thaw.

But simply, awkwardly asking while deep eyes crash
A brown look, a motion mistook
Now refuse, debris sold as useless men's trash.
Not her task of king's tale dark undertook.

Easy laid ashes sown in wind's icy name
Slicing a decided lover's door
While wiping tears mixed with lye in motion's game.
Never a minstrel . . .
Never a demented roar . . .
But a long drawn hissing door . . .
Never enters a curtain tore . ..
Passes a phantom whore . . .
Of whom I past eons exist to lore.

 A woman whose face expresses  sadness. Etching in the crayon.
A woman whose face expresses sadness. Etching in the crayon. | Source

© 2017 Kenneth Avery


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    • BlossomSB profile image

      Bronwen Scott-Branagan 6 weeks ago from Victoria, Australia

      An interesting poem, underlined with feeling.

    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 6 weeks ago from Riga, Latvia

      Most interesting and fascinating poem. Enjoyed.

    • faith-hope-love profile image

      John Ward 5 weeks ago from Richmond, British Columbia, Canada.

      Really Enjoyed and Appreciate. Will definitely read again.

    • kenneth avery profile image

      Kenneth Avery 2 weeks ago from Hamilton, Alabama

      Hi, Bronwen Scott-Branagan,

      A sincere thanks to you for your sweet comment.

      I wish that I could reveal WHO inspired this piece, but that would cause me to deal with breaking a confidence and I just cannot do that.

      Write me anytime.

    • kenneth avery profile image

      Kenneth Avery 2 weeks ago from Hamilton, Alabama

      Hi, Gypsy Rose Lee,

      You are so sweet to say the things you say.

      I will give you a secret. The photo above says a lot about the source of the inspiration for this poem.

      And I ache each time I think of that "place" a few years back.

      Write soon.

    • kenneth avery profile image

      Kenneth Avery 2 weeks ago from Hamilton, Alabama

      Hello, John,

      Hey, I just commented on you on my hub about "Saloons Making Great Tourist Sites," and I am so blessed to know that you are a Great Friend of mine.

      Thanks again.

      Write soon.

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