The Two's Picture

Above the mantel, the two’s picture

Below, the fire inside the hearth

A portrait dominates the room

In temporal frozen earth

Sequestered; forever forward-facing

Centered, to oversee

Generation’s lifelong spectacle

Paying mind to history

He perfected their flawless smiles

The artist was expensive, I recall

“The best,” they’d told me proudly

Morbidity, on the wall

They loved in hysterics; together till death

But to them lifetime is a tease

There’s more time above the mantle

In portraits, where time can cease

The Man Who Feigned Godhood [edited because the first one was bad i just realized]

Today I read the yesterdays,

to say I told you so

To prove my godliness to all

Humanity, below

There was a man feigned godhood

He believed enough to be

Aesthetics were imperative,

but duplicity was key

The boy fled his identity,

community, life, and home

But in this new city he’ll become a god!

Though born from mortal womb

Overthrown by mutinous hands

to replicate the fake 

Of godly tasks, compounded
when godhood is at stake

The Ballad of Euphrates II

“At the touch of a lover, all become poets”

Read at the top of his tablet in chalk

That chalk-slate he’d bring (so long as proper)

Sashed underarm; scattering dust as he’d walk

Of every ageless ancient axiomatic proverbial adage,

Euphrates gleaned from class like grain,

The words on his slate were a key

A mental dimension defogged; a new axis and plane.

“Like usual, in the Gardens after class,” she’d told him

Euphrates ruefully willed her late

But only to preserve his teacher’s words,

May they remain when they’re cleared from the slate.

He was deceptively stoic when she kissed him hello,

His gracefulness concealed his glee

“I found a new way to love you, Sophia!

To love with body, heart and mind; to love completely!”

The Ballad Of Euphrates I

He beheld knowledge with marvel; confidently humble

“None could count nighttime’s stars,” he would say

I bedeviled Euphrates: “Your proverb is weak,”

“I’d count them, if they shone during day”

All were students and teachers; the experimental creators

In the embryo where education was born

At the novel Academy; before knowledge was common

Before the sheen of intelligence was worn

Preferred by his tutor as the gleaming pupil, he was,

Fascinated by Euphrates’ expression

His words were expressed through words themselves,

It was words that were his passion!

Words were new and few, and few knew of literature

Fewer still could read or write

For those who hail my humble mind, it’s Euphrates,

Euphrates, who set literature alight!

I Died on the Train to Philadelphia

I hugged the mid-Atlantic coast

Embraced, by white December tide

Over frosty tracks to Philly,

In an empty train, I died

I saw my world in shades of grey

Ever darker; white to black

I died en route to Philadelphia

With Boston to my back

My final thought was the harbor town

The boats were frozen still

Anchored by the elements but,

Moved by human will

I couldn’t tell Heaven from Hell

But from somewhere came a scream,

“We’ve arrived in Philadelphia!”

And woke me from my dream

His Charlotte

A letter for his Charlotte,

A tribute to their time

A record where emotion rests

Where birches commence

The climb in the valley passageway

The portal to her peak

The wanderer’s printed testimony

Serves warning to the weak

Charlotte, come below the clouds!

Is clarity worth the cold?

Love delivered from such a height

Returns, one hundredfold