Jeffrey McCambridge Poems

Words mean little to
The dead language of dreams
Where color takes significance
Over the value of all else.
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Between the hidden fruits
And secret fires
The untamed mists clear
A paths, lightly tread
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The silence of night
pulls at the strings
of my heart.
her dark expanse
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The poet dreams
As he makes his way
Through streets paved
With the screams of children.
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The night sinks below the horizon
To dance alone with the stars
(I wait for you, my love
with an empty heart)
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I tread ashes and amber flowers
Lilly hills, and melancholy truths
As the ritual of my legs
Is preformed with fatal accuracy
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The ink is long since dry
And the pens are all gone
The eyes have stopped looking
It’s been written so long.
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The wheels have been stopped
And the machinery no longer works
Like it once had, in the days of gold,
Long since gone by.
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When the sky matches the day
And things seem to be in balance
Because the heavens are a dark gray
Our hearts are weighted down
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What type of magic
Is there in the names
We give numbers?
...