Early Poems Xv
Early Poems XV
Ambition
by Michael R. Burch
Men speak of their “ambition”
and I smile to hear them say
that within them burns such fire,
such a longing to be great ...
But I laugh at their “Ambition”
as their wistfulness amasses;
I seek Her tongue’s indulgence
and Her parted legs’ crevasses.
I was very ambitious about my poetry, even as a teenager. I wrote this poem around age 18 or 19.
As the Flame Flowers
by Michael R. Burch
As the flame flowers, a flower, aflame,
arches leaves skyward, aching for rain,
but it only encounters wild anguish and pain
as the flame sputters sparks that ignite at its stem.
Yet how this frail flower aflame at the stem
reaches through night, through the staggering pain,
for a sliver of silver that sparkles like rain,
as it flutters in fear of the flowering flame.
Mesmerized by a distant crescent-shaped gem
which glistens like water though drier than sand,
the flower extends itself, trembles, and then
dies as scorched leaves burst aflame in the wind.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem in my late teens. The flower aflame yet entranced by the moon is, of course, a metaphor for destructive love and its passions.
Ashes
by Michael R. Burch
A fire is dying;
ashes remain...
ashes and anguish,
ashes and pain.
A fire is fading
though once it burned bright...
ashes once embers
are ashes tonight.
This is a companion poem to “As the Flame Flowers,” written the same day, I believe.
Because You Came to Me
by Michael R. Burch
Because you came to me with sweet compassion
and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair,
I do not love you after any fashion,
but wildly, in despair.
Because you came to me in my black torment
and kissed me fiercely, blazing like the sun
upon parched desert dunes, till in dawn’s foment
they melt, I am undone.
Because I am undone, you have remade me
as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow
the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me
and bower me, somehow.
I wrote the first version of this poem around age 18.
Beckoning
by Michael R. Burch
Yesterday the wind whispered my name
while the blazing locks
of her rampant mane
lay heavy on mine.
And yesterday
I saw the way
the wind caressed tall pines
in forests laced by glinting streams
and thick with tangled vines.
And though she reached
for me in her sleep,
the touch I felt was Time's.
I wrote this poem around age 17 or 18.
Keywords/Tags: 12th grade, class, age, childhood, education, high school, student
Copyright © Michael Burch | Year Posted 2022
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