Know Me

07 Jan 00

You would know me?


This wretched heart that weeps
for this cynical world that hast crushed gallantry;
where no poets roam
to lay moon beams upon the ground
and whisper flowers into motes
that strike mine eye.
Despair of the soul bound
deep in care for knight-less world
vulnerable to our swords
that kill trees and bury rotting poison 
in the land that borne us
and that – in the end – will cradle us again.
The times felled agape;
stunned by the beauty of a play,
the warble of birds aflight,
the gurgle of water caressing a stream bed,
the tears that talent wrings
from a heart blessed with the ability
to love, deep abiding exaltation,
for the dance, the thespian art, the angel’s songs.
Be moved to silent wonder by art
be touched deeply by strangers’ kindness
be awed by the thunder and splendor of nature;
then, oh – then 
you would know me.


© 2000, Tara Tambolleo