Poets' Corner



Cyber Romance
Second Chance



From morning through to evening young,
their too adult hearts racing,
Like teenage youths with themes unsung,
their souls new paths are tracing.

They can’t believe this newfound zeal,
sensations revived and thrilling,
Old bodies, hearts, and souls reveal,
desires fresh and willing.

Newly are the days met now,
with hope and wonder flowing;
Anticipating when and how,
their joy from sharing, growing.

Each with eyes closed softly touch,
the other, far away;
Each prepared to give so much,
when finally comes the day.





Mon Coeur



In 'even tide as work is done, when nothing comes from fretting;
my heart and yours relax as one, to share the sun star, setting.

As every woe and daytime care, falls there too on the West;
The perfect sanctum we two share,
This heart of mine to yours does bear,
The thrill and peace of touch found there, love's appetite now whetting.





Bedtime



When quick and quiet comes the night, my heart in reverence pauses,
To pledge my honor to the light, the daytime with it's causes.

And then to stillness I repair, to sort and purge the worry,
A pensive sigh rolls through the air, before it troubles scurry.

And now the night, like blanket warm, security affords me,
Into her folds I faithful come, with sweet dreams, she rewards me.





Friday Nights


In every week there comes a time when souls and hearts must reckon,
Where labor's goals are set aside, so deeper calls can beckon.

These the hours where all is done to honor dreams held tightly,
Now let loose, the dance begun, a flame burns bold and brightly.

The calls to hope and promise, fresh, fill all that is our life
Deepest spirit to common flesh, relieved of every strife

Now the glory of heart's desire awakened for this while,
Brings the peace, and stirs the fire, the tears from eyes that smile

Music fair, the candle's light, the clothes and scents alluring,
Our grasp yields not, till morning bright, our love still whole, enduring.





Two Old Rugs


They work through the struggles, tattered and torn,
their own pains, and others, as well,
Tired and weakened, like old rugs, they’re worn,
to their minds, at times, this is hell.

But, there, in between them, a single thread binds,
preserving an order to all,
It gives them endurance and eases their minds,
by it’s strength all other woes fall.

Old rugs though they are, well trodden and spent,
thread bare and near torn apart,
From one thread they share, great beauty is lent,
together, a true work of art.




Fire Fight


I now have an enemy, no greater I’ve met,
Who’s terror and might lay me bare.

The blood of my joy from my soul it does let,
This enemy mine, my despair.

To my ruin it courses, no diversion abates,
It consumes as the fire, fast and wild.

Yet, I’ll win the day, for I have what it hates,
My tears, given up, like a child.

The tears of a true heart all fires do quell,
A child’s honest pain makes them pure.

By God’s own design, these tears master the hell,
Which despair brings to burn, fast and sure.

When emptiness comes, no light at the end,
And hopelessness runs all too deep.

I call for the child, and feel my heart mend,
From the tears flowing pure, as I weep.


Copyright ©1997 One Loose Brick


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