I.
After the stars are availed, and in resting,
biding the moments in which she was held,
to take not the hand of other, but of mine,
and with peace beget love, and again begin,
hand in hand walking, to pass all the clouds.
And brown locks of velvet sway freely apart,
down both the shoulders and over her heart.
Surcease with all spoken for dawn hastens swift,
each dream is a dream with the face I had known,
for waking is truth and slumber is false,
grace does not come through secreted words,
to see is to dream, and to dream is to love.

II.
Ever the picture and remnants remain,
what steady reverie runs loose through the heart,
slay both the man and the soul he endears,
weep through the movements of a tiresome walk,
hopeful to find that warm memory again.
One touch of heaven for a life among me,
lost in a rouse of the fiery sea.
Silence is a curse that riddles the hearth,
brown eyes will softly come patient to wake,
reticent in the glimmer of the ebony flow,
rise to the fall of the halcyon hush,
time upon time and watch the moments pass.

III.
Lights are not silenced, gold upon grey,
eloquent simplicity on a cool autumn’s day,
such token reminders of what I’ve attained,
for the third side of sorrow is absent of pain.
Oh how the joy may surely beguile!
The hell is what makes the heaven worthwhile!
Yes, Eros abides by this sole heart of mine,
paints the sky yellow for the justly divine.
And each coming day forgetting the last,
ready to realize that the past is the past,
brings newly found gifts to the reach of my view –
presently in heaven as I have found someone new.