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Dennis Go Poem
Can I call you mine?
I guess not.
It took me some time
To realize this fact.
Smiles reassure second chances
But never will it
Blossom and bloom.
Lady, I am weary.
Induce me a deep sleep
And allocate my fears.
Though I call you mine;
Your heart,
With aggravations,
Will never be.
Copyright © Dennis Go | Year Posted 2010
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Dennis Go Poem
The pursuit of Poetry is a lifelong affair,
Where one must strive hard to interpret his thoughts.
A scene treasured in the realm of the mind
Must be awesomely penned to justify its course.
Write on and ease your woe
For words vaguely written are the sentries of the soul.
The joy of poets is sought endlessly on paper.
Feelings never herald astound in plain dues.
Shortly reforms its elegies likewise,
And cuts its nothingness off without a clear view.
Striving without meaning...
For words cannot satisfy the thoughts the heart presumes.
The sound of rhyme and rhythm misjudge the context lines
Wherein rules uphold the grammar and meaning
Instead of the heart's ways freely patterned,
Unmindful of the verbal errors in wordings.
Writing still in strange tones
While others see your craft as relentlessly worthless.
The serenity of poems lives on forever
As the soul is wounded by the impact done.
It cherishes thoughts rarely mystified
Altering the concavity of one's reason
To study emotions
And the perpetual shelter within altered minds.
The proverbs of the soul must be kept sacred for life.
Antiquities herein outlive the ages.
Let poets be the scribes of tomorrow
To overshadow the fools from being sages.
Solemnly, live the dream
Be wise enough and pursue the vastness of writing.
Copyright © Dennis Go | Year Posted 2010
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Dennis Go Poem
I thought I knew
What I was dreaming:
The night time walks
And daytime talks
The future pledged of seeing;
The midnight phone calls
And certain gewgaws
The heart defined of meaning;
The swapping letters
And evening ventures
No longer seem existed;
The solemn promise
The spirit noticed
Refined and all retracted.
But all seems false
And love seems vain
I have no words of truce,
I'll drudge myself
In scattered pieces
And paint them with my youth.
Copyright © Dennis Go | Year Posted 2010
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Dennis Go Poem
The more I look,
The more she touches me
Profusely.
Her eyes peel my very
Skin, my essence
Of spontaneity's mirth.
Her hair flows down
To my heart's contagion
Motionless of no cure
But to give in,
Though I burn.
Copyright © Dennis Go | Year Posted 2010
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Dennis Go Poem
I still keep those old letters
You've sent me way back then,
Those times when you're just
A sheer daydream away.
They seem all crumpled.
Torn. Worn out. Yet
I read them quite often.
Recalling what was once
A past life of indulgence.
Nothing much you say,
But the flourishing
Of pure friendship
Was just a mere fiddle,
A dull edge to the rusted knife.
Unknown to you,
Every blot of ink you spare
In those letter-papers bore
The embers of my very essence...
I cherish them all...
More than my life.
Copyright © Dennis Go | Year Posted 2010
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