PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

                Between the loving and the pain,

                between the lying and the truth,

                were precious hours we were one,

                short-lived in time, we knew.



                And there upon your skin of flame,

                were crests of dew that I would seek

                to stroke in ways that understand

                the wild desire and shame we'd reap.



                Yet to my heart throb of the time

                the winds of swaying love did cry

                and all my gaurded walls were stormed

                when I looked into your knowing eyes.



                And when my fortress lust did fall

                I felt the churning after rain

                that sanctioned my cold lonely world

                with tears of sorrow to remain.



                My nights seem void of feeling now

                the fire of jaded romance lost

                and were those swaying winds just wind

                or love that measures passion's cost?



                The role of poetry is to utter the un-utterable; to open up

                spaces of consciousness and resistance; to language oppressions; to

                re-language historie