Ode to the Unkown

When I am old and I start to fade,
I hope that I will not be forgotten.
That somewhere somehow,
Someone remembers,
I did something in passing.
And it will be,
Nothing but a whisper,
Because few would hear it,
Or remember that they even heard it.
My name will not evoke,
Strong memories of joy or pain.
But just a mere anecdote for
Someone to laugh at,
Or think why mention him or her.
And that day,
Will be a far time after my passing,
Years beyond the day nature retook my body and soul.
And after that moment,
I would truly cease to exist,
Because in my life,
There was not much of me,
To begin with.

The Many Smiles of You

The many smiles of you

I have seen

Spread across my mind

As flags of fanfare and joy

Suttle changes of moods and feelings

Coil in your lips

As indices of perfection

To which I ascribe

Your lips part in ways

That are hard to describe

Ephemeral and ethereal

And god blessed

Let none take away such beauty

And let me witness it everyday

It Is Strange Leaving Love

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago. Even though sad, it is still good.


It is strange leaving love,
like a spirit leaving my body,
or a sensation evaporating from my skin.
I will have lost nothing,
but a feeling
and gained myself without pain.
I can move now without censure of myself,
without cursing my thoughts,
for they had wrapped my heart tight with thorns.
The freedom now is good and strange,
less without the freedom of love,
more with the freedom of life.