Monday, January 26, 2015

Two Poem Drafts

Both in very rough stages.

Ache

There are pleasures all around, for this world has many charms
and distractions it can give;
but the man who cannot ache for God or the woman in his arms
has never learned to live.
Like the deer in search of stream, our hearts pant for higher things,
the dreams that startle us awake:
The things for which the world will shake are the things for which we ache,
the things for which our hearts can break.

Two Sisters

Two sisters danced under cherry tree -- let them dance, leave them be! --
one as dark as a midnight sky -- with jet-black hair and ebon eye --
the other as bright as the light of day -- with hair as gold as sunlight's ray.
The gold one mocked the midnight one -- as siblings do, only half in fun --
for ugliness like ash and coal -- which falsehood was in part and whole.
And then anon a strapping man -- strong of arm and shoulder's span --
upon the road did pass them by -- and maidens catch a young man's eye!
He watched them dance under cherry tree -- let them dance, leave them be!
To the darker girl he lost his heart -- and therein every trouble starts --
and asked her hand to share his life, to be his love and loving wife.

Two sisters sailed in a cedar boat -- great beauty on the sea afloat! --
and the gold one pushed the dark one in -- for envy is a sibling's sin.
The dark one cried for helping hand -- for they were far from rock and land --
but the gold one sat and watched her drown -- the sunlight gilt her like a crown.
The dark one soon was cold and dead -- the gold one later haply wed --
for the strapping man, a golden wife -- for sinners oft have a happy life.

One sister sighed on an evening drear -- for the sky was cold and without cheer --
and wished for music light and gay -- as she once had danced in joyful play.
A harpist passed on the lonely road -- and the sky did growl, and the wind forebode.
A harp he had of the finest wood -- its maker was both wise and good--
and strings of hair like blackest jet -- the waves had washed them, cold and wet --
and he sought for her a gladsome song -- with a harper's hand the never went wrong --
but the mighty harp in language spoke -- when the harper's hand its voice awoke --
and "Murderer" was all it said, in a voice of sea and sister dead.

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