Life’s woven webs, composed by nature’s thrusts,
surround the calms, and feeds one’s deepest thirsts;
elicits from, and in an ideals sway,
what was true joy, behooves love swept away.
Form, melts among a lifetime’s searing coals,
together in each loving, lust filled tryst;
breaks apart, forlorn upon mind’s divide,
mends only when, twined consciousness survives.
In one’s gardens, of livings memories,
come meanings glimpse, of wanting blossoms dreams;
from lives, and loves flow nectar’s sweet tastes,
garden’s treats, flowering scents, life’s prized doves.
Summer roses, in dolor beds of lovings sheafs,
carnation wreaths, wrapped round as sadness ends;
en-kindled thus, in amour’s incarnadine flames,
free essences’ damned, by life’s separations’ banes.
Perplexity, to envy’s blossomed dreams,
thoughts evanesce, soul raptures in love’s stress;
harmonious, as nature’s substance bled,
two hearts confess, life’s bond is perfect bliss.
Delilah’s kiss, once one’s alluring dream,
wakes love’s depth, in this seduction’s spurned romance;
only distance, reminds us of this life’s choice,
realm’s insist, or chanced passion’s will surpassed.
Paired souls emerged, rejoicing of love’s birth,
languid whispers converge; lust’s hold betrayed;
sweet’s kisses pause, what thought does speech bring forth,
once inner light’s shone, through deepest thought’s unrelenting forge.
In loving passed, winter’s chilling returned,
love’s depth questioned, toward each hearts one worth;
relations meanings, love’s translations moot,
burned and void, this couplets cold shoulder turns.
Image and mirrors, actualities shattered,
all I could hate, now reflects in your whole;
surreal and opaque; as heights to life’s grime,
my essence reimaged, death’s time splits two entwined souls.
Sufferings quandary; I buss now its hands,
lover’s soothe waned, when heart’s quiet ghosts appear;
passion’s emotions, our neo-birth inclined,
self’s afflict, realize what one had, is soon lost.
Season’s froth, a soul’s true intentions,
of cruelty’s shards, my thoughts bias perceived;
truth’s spoke, of hate, and not one’s love,
reality bleeds, of all that being’s bond so means.
Our loss, in love and summer’s flowering end,
in nature’s pace moved, no more by a spurned lover’s bane;
once lucid emotion, now my rebirth through parting’s pain begin,
alas, my freedom burned, of loves defeat and life’s solemn refrain.
Love grew, until in sense its essence died anew
from timid lies, into death’s woven web it flew;
our flower’s dream, upon its one time life so blew,
with blossomed breath, on whisper’s withered scent withdrew.
Michael Darrell Walker / Anything Pink