Endless Nights
===================== 

Beneath the slow, dark turn of stars and dust,
stand I, hope shining like a candle flame,
soul joined with flutes and lyres that rich declaim
the love I hold for you in strains robust.
Through cold and clouded nights that I distrust,
in constancy I stay, desire the same.
Morn sings of you in gold, dusk croons your name,
aubades succumb to somber grey and rust.

But with each dawn the colours once more burn,
in gilded rays warm my benumbed face.
And with the gentle sun my thoughts return
to dreams of your embrace, for which I yearn.
My love keeps steady through the flow of days,
as overhead the constellations turn.

 

Crystalline
===================== 

Across the crystal spires of gem and air,
birds on the wing traverse the heavens vast
to make their homes along each jewelled mast,
their mantles drenched in colours bright and rare.
Such souls care not when the peers stop to stare
at lofty eaves, their beauty unsurpassed --
and woo, without the burden of a caste,
the precious soul they think beyond compare. 

And I think on your mighty, gentle hands,
and linger with the memory of love.
Dim pictures flicker past, time bare withstands --
the hourglass of ages stills its sands
to rest upon the thoughts that I write of:
the languour of your touch, a waltzing dance.

Nomad
===================== 

Were I a youth with no concern for love,
I'd spend my days alone with no pretence,
traverse the fertile world while dreaming of
endeavours in the wild at no expense.

But youths grow old and fancies fade away,
in favour of responsibility.
The erstwhile treks and sojourns soon give way
to rooted seats of pow'r and dignity.

But you evoke the child-soul in me,
and show me to the nomad's life again,
awakening long-buried fantasy,
the majesty of deserts quenched with rain.

I see a beauteous world, her roads untried,
and ask that you adventure by my side.

 

Arias at Dawn
===================== 

The stirring notes of arias at dawn
spill forth in waves that douse my weary head.
The students of the Opera sing on;
their lyrics croon the words that roil unsaid.

These ardent years I've held my bitten tongue,
a vibrant wellspring hidden underground,
pierced by your harmony since I was young,
and in your resonance have sweetly drowned.

So with this pen I scribe these words for us,
in measured tones proclaim the fervour of
the vivid strains once kept a susurrus;
the gentle trickle yields a font of love.

Sweet draughts of music flood my heart like wine;
love's fruit is borne by friendship's steadfast vine.

 

Aerials of Clarramore
===================== 

In weaving lines two aerials soar high,
and with a sigh, the clouds part -- their ascent
to breathless heights, until their wings relent,
claims Clarramore's white fog-bemisted sky.

Soft silvered hues the elder's plumes present;
in gilded mantle does the other lie.
And in long helices they gaily fly,
until at last they make their slow descent. 

They bask in sunlit rows of blooms vermeil,
in sweet chimes do they speak of dreams distilled,
but even skyblooms' perfume cannot veil
the sorrow of the countless unfulfilled.

Through sadness brought by unexpected gale,
such quiet love will forever prevail.