A Poet’s Fate

‘I live in my own world. Not a soul has wandered through my land in a long, long time, longer than I can remember. And so, I have forgotten people and their faces, their language is now undecipherable for me, and their customs, alien. Thus I live, without a human touch, unable to reach into anyone and no one able to reach into me. Thus I live, a poet whose wine is drank by none, whose hymns are sang by the passing wind.

Thus read the paper found in a cabin deep in the woods. The readers were workers, their machines tearing through the woods like laborious ants and transforming it into another of mankind’s great cities, a testimony to the refined state which civilization achieved. Thus read the paper, and then was thrown onto the ground to become part of the city’s cemented foundations.

I Miss You

I miss you,
you whose heart
ever beat inside my own,
deeper into me
than the deepest dream,
more fragrant
than my best rose.

I miss you,
you whose breath
in my own I felt
ever since
my lips knew the meaning
of wind and air,
of inhale and exhale
and the infinity that spreads
at the still point where they mend.

I miss you,
you whose dreams
like stars were ever budding
in the dark firmament
on the underside of my skin,
colouring my blood
with the flame of your passion,
nurturing my tears
with your sweet lament
and my smile
with the joy of your soul.

I miss you endlessly,
even when I’m with you
I miss you,
I miss you and I miss you
and out of my passion
a heat so intense
shall melt the universe
into a star in your palms,
a flower with which
I’ll adorn your dark, long hair.