Monday, February 03, 2014

Three Poem Re-Drafts


The golden crown upon my head I give,
or would if golden crown I had to give,
and with it all the life I have to live,
if life were something such as I could give;
for when and where you dwell the good shall live,
and there I too must wish to love and live,
and though it cost me dear, I dearly love
to love your life and give to you my love.

I love you! But can you return the same?
I clearly see you love me not the same,
and that your love is mostly love in name!
From day to day your look is not the same;
the tone will change with which you say my name.
Indifference loves no man, nor loves his name:
it wreathes your look; it stifles every love,
and proves, perhaps, that you will never love.

And yet I still somehow in hope can live!
Without a victor's crown a man will live
through other joys, and joy may give.
Though not the greatest way a man may live,
a man unloved may still his own love give
until new fortunes new loves to him give.
Undaunted, I to you will give my love
until the day I too am crowned with love.


The air is hot and dry,
obscured by storms of dust.
Endless realms of sand
parch with fatal thirst.
Yet even on this desert planet
water can be found,
dew in secret places,
pools by wind-worn rocks.

I dreamed:
This desert was a beach,
mist was in the air,
great waves of philosophy
broke against the shore.

The Same

The thought will wrap around me
(I know it is not true):
I can know your eyes again
and start that life anew.
Enticing is the dream,
addictive is the game --
but I am as I ever was;
you are still the same.

The whisper of the serpent
is tickling in my ear;
mists of faded memory
raise visions faint, unclear.
But you and I were burned before
by sparks from foolish flame --
and I am as I ever was;
you are still the same.

I remember how it ended;
it broke beneath our weight,
our hearts spilled out upon it,
redemption came too late.
The dog returns to vomit
and man to hurt and blame!
For I am as I ever was;
you are still the same.

How much I wish to do it,
to wrap your arms around
like someone coming home
and kissing native ground.
But we know where that will end:
with sorrow, anger, shame --
for I am as I ever was;
you are still the same.


  1. Brigitte Darnay2:18 PM

    Thank you, Brandon! My hope is that your New Years Resolutions for 2014 include poem drafting and posting.

  2. branemrys4:07 PM

    I'm hoping that, since I'm less busy this term than last, that I'll be doing more poem drafting -- or, if inspiration isn't striking, I'll at least have time to revise and improve more of my previous poem drafts.


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