Claude et Vivian

My very childhood has dictated,
to explore is my only fate;
on whatever quest I may embark,
never I fail to be off the mark.

Let us in the streets rejoice,
with music in the evening breeze;
the croaking artefact lies in poise,
like Romeo and Juliet’s final choice.

So in my embrace she had sang,
as you sat in silence, and listened;
for Joaquin or the old jazzy tunes,
your retiring eyes again glistened.

We drank chocolat at le saint-amour,
like old friends — needing no words
for our love of simply a shared rainbow
for our artful souls only we may know.

Though your legs struggled to obey,
though the smile is our only tongue;
your spirit I see in the golden frames,
in the Sicilian summits and the fabled chansons.

As rain poured down in romantic gestures,
at the window we beheld Fryderyk’s grave;
a timeless story from the Parisian leisures,
is lost in humanity’s inauthentic cave.

Published in: on 08/06/2018 at 1:09 AM  Leave a Comment  

The Will to Believe

Almost a revelation, almost…
The wise words of the wanderer
drift about as a clinging ghost,
when the thrill of life is whatever.

But not for me, not for me —
the neon lights are lying,
not even the kiss of a corpse
from the memories of the dying.

We all live for but one reason —
for want of the to be encountered.
Yet what lies in this infection?
Are not the heavens so festered? 

This is almost a crusade —
a duty of the corrupted artist,
in a tornado is this parade,
playing the mortal catalyst.

Published in: on 08/06/2018 at 12:13 AM  Leave a Comment