Evon Christian Poems
The beauty with the yellow rose... She is dead, darling.
The Analysis Of Ink In A Glass
As I had finished writing poetry with a calligraphy pen, I held it haphazardly over a translucent glass. A tiny driblet of ink sinuously slid off the pen tip and into the liquid. I watched the dropp permeate the water with whirling motions until the uppermost portion of the water was occupied with ink. At that time, a thousand tiny droplets depressed towards the bottom of the glass like anguished souls. The color was now a solid, sullen black....
The Words Never Uttered On Our Breath
The words never uttered on our breath Created a silence that was deafening to the heart, The icy halos, casting crowns at our footsteps When all love has been misled,
For Caitlin Her instrument was of eluding beauty, and she whispered it so
Tangents, For Michael
-an outline of my conversations with Michael what a waste of a day, and you change my stupid,
Young Love Is.
I never knew how something fragile And beautiful could exhaust itself before me, Or how even the immaculate have flaws;
The Flower-Of-An-Hour Was Always Cruel
The flower-of-an-hour was always cruel And never shown in your everyday smile, When walking about in the snowfall You said, “we are for each other, ”
Dancing In The Pyre
The sun scorches everything It breathes on, it breathes in, Lingering ashes wafting in the air, Yet I cannot find my sun-seared heart,
Young Love Is.
I never knew how something fragile
could exhaust itself before me,
Or how even the immaculate have flaws;
I should have realized by now
That love was selfish and imperceptive,
But guided by an easy craze
young love is
To have that simple feeling,
Which provokes and disdains all others.