Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
...

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.


...

You look me in the eyes and speak my name,
As if my life were nothing but a game,
A kingdom built on foundations of grief,
Where you find your joy and your relief.

While we are drowning in the tears we cry,
You dance beneath a dark and weeping sky,
Twirling in the rain of our despair,
With a heart as cold as the winter air.


...

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise:
Arise, arise!
...

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

...

She burns on the inside,
a quiet heat she never shows,
the kind that sits behind her ribs
and pretends to be fine.
She laughs in the daylight,
but at night her thoughts flare up,
sparks turning into storms
she can't switch off.
She told two friends,
voice shaking,

...

399

A House upon the Height—
That Wagon never reached—
No Dead, were ever carried down—
No Peddler's Cart—approached—

Whose Chimney never smoked—
Whose Windows—Night and Morn—
Caught Sunrise first—and Sunset—last—
Then—held an Empty Pane—

Whose fate—Conjecture knew—
No other neighbor—did—
And what it was—we never lisped—
Because He—never told—
...

it lay in my palm soft and trembled
as a new bird and i thought about
authority and how it always insisted
on itself, how it was master
of the man, how it measured him, never
was ignored or denied, and how it promised
there would be sweetness if it was obeyed
just like the saints do, like the angels
and i opened the window and held out my
uncupped hand; i swear to god

...

They met like strangers
in a world moving too fast
two wondering souls
never meant to last.

The road between them
was never gentle or kind
Storms in their hearts
and doubts in their minds.


...