Scars of Innocence

So lonely, a song by the lying boy who in quiet meditation,
While sorrow, sorrow ineffaceable continues to empty a heart;
While waiting must suffice or satisfy the longing eyes;
While sighs provide a momentary relief from the metronome,
And reminiscent thoughts, the carriage;
Will slowly deteriorate from inside out, the passing of time.

Wishing for a word, even unfriendly, even angry,
Apologies are over and winter has begun.

The cold air, each tick and tock, refreshed, and heaving,
The temporary solace of the scene helps him forget
The temporary silence, between kinetic and potential—
My potential, wasted on worry and wasted on action.

Right then left, and back again, in and out oxygen;
A measure of time through throat, and count;
Write your song, young boy, and waste the waning clock
By measuring the lines wrote long, with every tick or tock.

Cries to the wind, your mockingbird sings
He sings to your youth, but your memory that later listens
Boy, why don’t you run from the creeping waves?
Why do you listen to the sea, itself having lost and lost again?
"Death, death, death" it whisper’d, and death the bird sung,
But having youth, you show no signs of it.

I too connect with the earth and its creatures
I too ignored and now miss their advice
And I too, a mockingbird!

I was once told the secret to happiness,
But when I left the woods I could not remember.
Remembering, a funny thing remembering.
So far it bounds, so crude the path.
I could not find the way back to the garden.

In younger years I could have navigated
To younger ears I could have sung
And under stars I would have healed the scars of innocence undone.
Between the times together, I’ve seen myself apart
In joy and sadness, sadness
And joy

A girl and pen, recluséd write
before the sun arose-
a short verse, tightly packed
haunted melancholy repose.

Language revealed obsession;
Luxury you kept from me,
So death and lonesome be
My eternal company.

Genius or madman considered first?
Christian or fiend who at God cursed?
And innocence lost with experience of life;
Birth or death will not restrain your strife.

For who in life ignores his death?
And who but God inspires breath?
And who told Thel to tell his story
Before she wrote his allegory?

Time to contemplate the devil’s plan
Which deceiving wrought the Fall of Man,
And innocence to corruption led
Before He crushed the serpent’s head.

I count the sways of the pendulum
And loaf instead of see the time escape from me.
The boy has left the beach and long forgot the bird;
And girl ties her poems tight with ribbons.
The Innocent was born into the world, and experience
Betrayed what all his colleagues may have heard.

I tell my story to celebrate my revelation,
But instead my reader sees my aberration,
And my desperation.

My metronome is fading, and ticks repeat,
and tocks while no one listens
While time sees past my pretense,
I gladly show my scars of innocence.

It Was Good

One tree that doesn’t belong, but still it grows
Tall and its fruit swells with ripening pulse;
Hidden in the alignment of olive groves
That shades the soil untilled and rows
Of stones that mark the perimeter garden.
The sweet nectar of Eden bound by rich skin
Bleeds forsaken immortality.

For a moment he forgot, and began his descent:
Loss of Friend and followed her. His helper and he,
Together broke, and listened to the lying serpent
That spoke, tales of knowledge with corollary.
Perfection undone and naked reveal the knowledge
Exposed no leaves could conceal the broken pledge
Or hide where Friend will always see.

Fiery sword now guards the gate, and toil, sweat
And pain became their punishment and shame;
And snake on belly crawl the earth where weeds
Will grow, and work will show, more fruit; that
One of two unable to please with offered root
Did jealous murder in field, and curse on head
He brought while brother bleeds.