You Have Left Me
You have left me.It may as well be the moon where you have taken up residence.I gaze upon beauty supernal -- heaven's vault -- and imagine you there, on the moon, a speck upon the bright and glassy plate of a night sky. Strange, however, that you never left your room nor shut the door. It was the portal to your mind and heart that closed . . slowly . . . unseen by all who love you.I think back to those joyous, sunny days that became dark so gradually. No one noticed the sun turned black, the wind gone cold. You slipped away and were locked up within the jail of your mind . . . and that of your once pure heart.No one can breach the chasm and prove himself your savior.
A poet's mind is on the loose
a golden egg laid by the goose
he's looking at the moon again
don't take away his poet pen
-- for nancy drew
I talk to you, just like old times, reminiscing about our love and our heartbreak and our happier moments together.
The old club chair, near the window that gives onto the shaded terrace, is shabbily comfortable and fits in all the right places. I stare at you, you -- the woman whose face stopped passersby on the street in their tracks.
That countenance has gone rigid, its eyes staring blankly at nothing through mullioned panes . . .
Where, my love, have you gone?
It's quiet on the plains in Spain
Oh will it rain Oh will it rain
She gazes through her mullioned pane
and drinks a glass of fine champagne
His heartbreak she does not embrace
It's written on her ridged face
He rises from his easy chair
bedeviled by her hardened stare
So very good, Nancy!
I was inspired by the new movie, YOUTH, to write the second piece. Michael Caine, Jane Fonda . . .
I was inspired by the mullioned pane
That you were!!!
I FEEL A SADNESS so deep that friends wonder
why both art and blinds remain undrawn.
Long gone the muse who promised me solace
while guys played ball and climbed tall trees.
A blank canvas before me demands,
"Here's your life; where's it gone?"
'Tis far too late to be what I
might have been . . .
-- THE SAD POET
Compound and complex " I feel a sadness so deep that friends wonder why both art and blinds remain undrawn"
The Rebel. Maybe it's because we live in a room with the blinds down and the lights on. Once or twise, perhaps , it is granted us to switch the lights off and open the blinds. Then for a moment the darkness outside becomes the brightness, and the blinds can be opened. Yet only occassionally in life do moments come when we can switch the light off and open the blinds....these are the moments the " SAD POET" can be found in " happiness"