Wednesday, February 6, 2008

The tolling of the bells

Ah, hear ye, the tolling of the bells,
amid all that's eerie, this at night she hears.

But they are empty, mere fustian sounds,
just the deserted spaces of her fears.

Behold, said I, one gloomy midsummer
she holds a knife in her feeble hand;

In solitude, she gazed at the heavens,
held by the eternity of the night.

But hear the bells, it's a fool's paradise
that her silly dreams reveal!

The morning dew

Fallen leaves gracefully dance beneath the blue skies
never losing that splendor on the earth's mortal floor.

Holding hands at night, two souls walk a thousands miles,
until the moon sleeps, until thine lips taste the morning dew.

The arrogance of knowledge, squalid in its evil ways,
those harsh mortal questions make kings leave in haste .

Yet, fear not my lady, for the greatest love story of all,
is not of the mighty, not of the strong, but of the weak!

In the midst

In sweet surrender, I fondle your tired soul,
In the eyes of God I consume all that majesty,
ah, such intimate touch, a splendid vacuity.

Like the mists of June, your brown eyes sing thy hymn;
And your lips are a garden that adorns the world,
All this glory that abhors the inanities of my mind.

Yet, in sadness, I leave a glimpse of paradise,
of love, of remembrance, in your kindred breasts,
for men are dreamers, foolish victims of thy caress.

In the midst of the tranquil night, I mourn,
The devil shall whisper to my ears, oh, I implore,
In disdain, may the gods have mercy upon my soul!

I shall dance

Tonight, in solitude, all those sadness inundates me,
Arresting my mind, hiding my tears to a place faraway.

So I shall dance in the rain, because my princess,
love is no joy, but what haunts in irreparable regret.

My timid heart bleeds, dies hard, each melancholic minute,
but those memories, no, they are not an empty heartbeat.

Unto my grave, I confess, there are things I failed to say,
now, alone cherishing a past long lost as the rain torches me!


Lonely birds chirp like blind eels in gray sand,
as the wind scatter dead leaves by the shore.

Empty fields of dreams scorn her dainty fingers,
mourning and sorrowful, like some silent scream.

Her feet quivers, unsure and lost in this mystic ground,
yet she rises, like an old dying man wanting to disappear.

Now, she weeps beside me, unsure of the world around,
verily, summer is a sad song when true love is not found!