To a Visionary and Angels by philangelus, literature
Literature
To a Visionary and Angels
SONNET TO A VISIONARY AND ANGELS
"You too are human," she had said when done
for I had teased her for the autographs
as if those others were the only ones
to seek encouragement in more than laughs.
Yet I had not outgrown the need for signs
to reassure my heart so proud that I
still walked upon the path that never winds...
or so I thought when to my faults so blind.
My thoughts move slowly when I try to leap
on through the week as angels fly, so light,
for free from bodies they need not to sleep
yet without rest mine's heavier each night.
But humble angels speak the truth to all,
while pride does not and that is why I fall.
-- B
AWAKE AT 3 A.M.
I dreamt of you just now
or did I?
Like you, long dark hair hung down
like a mantle around a face so fair
and she wore her slender form
with simple grace.
But the face wasn't yours
especially the eyes
which held neither the strength
nor the tenderness
of yours.
The dream played out
before my sleeping mind
like a seventies love story
in movie form.
You know the sort with
wide collars and shallow hearts?
We wed -- or at least
the woman wed the man
that I was in the dream --
and children arose
(as they often do).
I loved the dream children
as I loved the dream you
but she left me
and I followed,
aga
TRANSFLAGRATION
Dedicated to Sister Marie-Pierre
What sustains candles as they melt away?
How do they feel as their being is spent?
The trimming of wicks and snuffing of flames
only prolong the doom of each servant.
Yet to just smolder is not enough
nor will an unlit candle ever earn praise.
To break the darkness candles must suffer
the appetite of an incorporal blaze.
But are the feverish hosts truly devoured?
Or only transformed...
-- By John Rieping on March 6, A.D. 2006
Sonnet to a Pianist's Flight by philangelus, literature
Literature
Sonnet to a Pianist's Flight
SONNET TO A PIANIST'S FLIGHT
Her hands above the keys end not their flight
until the music held within does flow
through fingers small that know more grace than I,
despite my dancing heart, will ever show.
To see even her car scatters my being
and when she speaks my ears must fight to climb
a single word that others say to me.
Her laugh, though soft, can pierce me through each time.
I bleed with heart in hand before her eyes
with hope, so pale, that this her heart might move
as once before it did, yet no replies
does she reveal with looks she keeps aloof.
Am I but an imposter strange to see
to claim a love if she does not claim