- Books, Literature, and Writing
Finally Touching You
Slowly walk allowing my broken eyes to love your shiny sheen
Casting on where you were, oh, my love, and where you were been.
We glanced one too many wasted glances in measured moments we
Watching surely moon and sun to rise and fall and feeling to see.
Sit quietly with me a lingered, beaten warrior of old
Talk to me in poems cold without form or goddess' mold.
Laugh quietly to one shattered soul for you
I have no mysteries, Hades fire below or one sky of blue.
I see your moon's shining hair so long, so golden gold
I wince at thinking what you think and angelic tunes you've told.
A harp tells of a friendship with soft notes I freeze
Touching a part of me I've hidden--killing my strength of knees.
Alas, pure woman young, a gulf stands between you and I
Soaking each breath from bard's odes of heroes few to die.
Spilling over your essays again so young, so new of decree
Until I roar through eons times infinity until you see me, just me.
I wonder, dear lonely young woman in moon so pure
Is there a cure for freedom's bold, my aching spirit ensure?
My shoes once new walked, but walked a step too far
Crawling once, crying twice 'til finally touching your star.
You are a song of notes of red . . .
A joke, a promise, a vow that I said . . .
Your silence finely sown . . .
Deathly lovers told and darkness thrown . . .
I look now lazily to see your perfectly-framed mouth
And see your eyelashes sift as butterflies laughter
Oh, precious heart of yours, stop once in a moon's thought
Seek my feeble hand reaching . . .
Seek my mouth seeking . . .
And touching your eyes with a fire more deeper than any hell.
I won't dream anymore; slam through your dungeon door.
I will be content with dusty lover's vows.
And watch your plowman and his precious plow.
A dog lays sleeping in time's our early last meal
Your endless herds of camels, gold, silver of appeal.
Kings draw envy 'neath his angry robe of red
And remember you once as I was something I said.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery