Come bring me your tears from the mountain's stream,
carry them down over those high cheek bones;
rush to me with your dampened eyes that gleam,
in your pocket you're touching river stones.
I will help you awaken from this dream.
I'll lick those dewy drops of life's sorrow,
hold you close and feel your heart's rapid beat;
rest your head on my way to the morrow,
let me cradle you deep with my soul's heat.
Strength from each other we'll lend and borrow.
There's a place I want to show you, baby,
a place that's safe and full of love so sweet;
happy are the only tears you'll cry ... free,
a fortress I'll build us in which to entreat
a lasting forever where we can be.
Those stones that you carried down from so high,
we'll mount o'er the door to remind us when
tears fell like rain but did so swiftly dry;
we know the meaning ... to begin again.
Hold your hand in mine, let me hear you sigh.
The Subtlety Of Sin And Sandy Shores
Bone dry and hungry
Demons feed on fire quietly below
Never satiated eating emptiness alone
Sin laps up the souls above with certainty
Like waves licking at the sandy shore
Slowly, quietly, over time, with salt
Consumed like lust
Lost dignity
Gone without a trace
They go to another place
Where no soul or shore should be
Disappear in a mist of mystery
Taken out to sea
Gentle silhouette
A contrast to her fierce heart,
Moving gracefully
Yet her beauty's conquering,
Symphony of subtlety
The water flows from the tap,
Over the translucent cube.
No function, and no reason.
Perhaps, the waters over the eyes.
The earth is brittle under heel
in quiet little ways
But leaves are bragging
bright with flame
as we watch the seasons change
________________________________
"Season.....Gogyoka"
11/3/12
Resubmitted for Brian Strand's Contest:207
Subtlety has no place in this life
A life of blatancy which allows no secret
Somewhere lost is discretion
Some place among the rising pile of greed
Truth is only interesting if something can be made of it
Be it fortune, fame, or power
No longer are we admirers of dignity
But exploiters of vulnerability
Let us return now to that place,
Where all is death beside our truth
When what is treasured is our love
For others above ourselves
For days will come when nothing that
We see or hear or feel
Will matter any longer
When Death knocks on the door
Donna Golden
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.