Vincent

Vincent - my close and trusted friend
He is allways there for me
He allways makes room for me, allways makes time for me
Poetry became the gateway
Sapere aude ~Dare to know~
Thank you Vincent.. for everything
Past, present and future

Friendship, like this rose is frail.
it requires to be cared for and nurtured,
It can blossom as this flower shall and
as such present its beauty in symmetric perfection.
Yet this symbol shall wilt, no matter
how much care and love is given it.
Friendship, however, under such conditions will take root.

Where do we find innocence but in children at play?
Like kittens, not knowing that claws
can hurt others and themselves.
How can I teach without letting them feel the pain?
There isn't a method known, except
to attempt to alleviate the agony thereafter.
Warnings, kind words, have little avail
against youthful innocence,
Being it's own beautiful form of sense.
With logic fit for a perfect world,
but betrayed by the sins of the old.

There are those females who just seek your life's blood
Those I hunt. While I hunt, more often than not I kill,
er they strike.
But there are those females
who seem to seek not blood but soul,
Here Nature has exceeded itself
These slayers of the soul inspire,
not hate, fear or spite
but a more insiduous emotion,
Love.

Beauty flows over the summer meadow
with a liquid grace
Caressing the senses for a fleeting moment
while permanently etching in a trace.

The loneliness of a crowd,
The beating of the throng of
Humanity
Realisation of community

I'm mortal and I know my span.
The burden of generations
weigh upon me and my loins
Yet, I defer in the face of fate
As if the inevitable shall wait.

Grey
Steadily pounding away,
results achieved
paid in youth's coin
A measure of success
fleeting in its futility
leaving emptiness in its wake

Where is this world were leaves give me joy
where is the endearment,
Is it only in the soul or if you wish
to argue, the mind.
What is it that has made me love life,
so that I now live in fear of losing it

The evil whiteness of a blank sheet
the curse of knowledge
yet, what of me?
What is there but the illusion of infinity
The weight of the unequaled
the mark of the unique
with the escape of the dreamer
Yes, it is he who has his universe,
under his mock control
A leaky sieve out in the ocean
But with the panache of a galjoen of the silverfleet

I can’t cry for the millions
But I cry for one
For one at a time.

Grown men, fearless of anything,
reduced to lachromating, sobbing,
crying, crying tears of memories
which will be just that, memories never
adding, adding new joy, only grief of
losing, love freely given with a joyful miauw
an overwhelming pur, and a look quivering of
contentment

Love is why the grief
doesn't only bring pain, rage
where will this love go, I can't still it
It is still here but do I love some dead fur?
no, that which I love is gone, it is no longer here
nothing I can do will make it reappear
an empty void in my soul.

(written for Sara)

What a pace, what a pace
takes you through life
with thunder and lightning speed.
You appear like a snowdrop,
Not into the mellow
slow patter of spring drizzle,
but into the fierce and hard pounding
of a summer thunderstorm.
Aberrantly having to face
The overwhelming peaks of life
while still ascending it’s apparently steep face.

A path never before taken,
yet comfortable in its familiarity.
still with a balance shaken,
by the overwhelming similarity.
Freefalling into unexplored space

swimming in blossoming emotion,
feeling mutual appreciation,
brimming to share feelings,
sharing our newly forming love.
Freefalling into unexplored space.

The pale blue sky painted with strings of perfect white,
Thinking of you.
The blazing sun sinking into a rainbow of color,
Thinking of you.
The bright harvest moon lightening the clear heavens,
Waiting for you.
Friends and Family in merry communion watching Shakespeare, passing small talk,
Impatient for you.
Trying to engage my mind but, poets, historians and even the bard can't break the spell of,
Thinking of you.
Mind ranging over the lands of sleep, retaining conciousness, because I am
Thinking of you.

Tender gazes drinking in your beauty
Soft touches awakening primal desire,
Firm caresses building greater urgency,
Liquid kisses trialing in streaks of pleasure,
Smooth strokes reaching for greater heights,
Rapid rythmes expressing complete passion
Entire fibers encompassing our being one,
Hot breaths announcing risen fires,
Loud moans ululating our climax,
Gentle kisses sealing our love.

Love entangled with admiration,
Who could not appreciate
being loved by
a gentle soul soaked in intelligence and wit,
excersizing a giving nature
using compassion and
seeking truth
Finding it in body and soul
In a loving passionate knowledge of
Being loved by you.

Taking love upon untouched ground,
watching it grow wildly,
not able, not willing to keep in check,
unbridled passion,
ever growing love,
permeating my whole soul,
igniting blazing internal infernos,
with mere thoughts of you.

The agony of a mere imagined loss,
An overwhelming flash of emotion
expressed in gut-wrenching nausea.

Just the brief thought
of your permanent absence from life,
tears into the whole of my being,
devastating blazing fires
in a deluge of sorrow.

With heavy heart and sad soul,
I now know, I now feel,
At what cost
my happiness is wrought.

I love, therefore I am
complete,
I am loved, therefore I am,
more than the sum of all my parts.

I pray someday you comprehend
how miraculous the emotion of true love is to me.
For that to have been shared, be it merely
from afar, yet with touching hearts and
merging souls, it reveals within it,
a beauty not surpasssed. Having lived
within this fiery emotion and shared it,
for once was not merely a day sieged
but a memory forged, one of being completely
alive. Alive with a furnace within my
chest, alive with a fire in my soul,
a permament smile upon the countenance and
a free laugh of merriment in my heart.
It is thus that i shalt remember
that gift we both shared and for that,
my dear lady, I shalt ever be grateful.

What is the truth?
Truth is that I loved,
loved powerfully enough for it
to allow me transcent many
of my most precious values.
When sacrificing those, they seemed to lack
significance in light of greater happiness.
And in retospect, I do not regret
placing love above all else,
But eventually vincit omnia veritas.

How do I account for a friendship
that should have been a love,
one with absolute passion and total
joining of souls. Can it ever be, shall it
ever be? I do not know, yet knowledge
speaks a language alien to the heart.
There is knowledge of passion, of joy, of desire
and of comfort, yet the muse of Love is yet to
speak, shall it ever? I now contend it is
of no avail and little importance. Love shall
seek it's own way into our hearts again. How and
whom shall be so blessed is off little prominence.
Sieging our day and daring to know that
in this day we have eachother's soul to
treasure, suffices to let us face and meet that new
morrow with faith of present beauty and
of impending delights.

You just left,
And I yearn,
For the moment,
that I can hold you,
hold you again,
and say "mine".

False hope has been vanquished,
yet I feel no remorse,
not even down.
What is. what has been,
shall be,
appear to be the same very slow,
slow spiral,
climbing to reach higher,
I know that every time I jump,
I think I'll make the top,
but only perspiration will get me,
to overcome.