Welcome to the poetry page!
Whoa, now Gandalf has two poems, so he gets his own page.......
~*~Shadowfax~*~ From forts of ravaged rainbows and wrecked stars
from the inverted tunnel of red dawn
the new day's arrows glance from your hot coat
of pearl and mithril, chasing my dry night
and cleansing my tired whiteness all anew.
Your pounding wakes the hollowed crust to hope
your muscled haste fulfils my destiny.
No master am I, and no beast are you
partners we in this our fevered lunge
our separate bloods and breathings merging as
war's horns dictate our imperative dance.
And when victory's dead tree blossoms fresh
and all freed wastelands cradle their first spring
and forgiveness is the song of life
we'll cross the heaving waves still bound as one
horse and rider, winged in healing space.
~*~White....~*~
White the heavenlight,
with purpose unbroken
revealing all
that is actual, solid,
given, tender,
alive; a face raised
in contemplation
of skygems teaching
no unholy variance;
white page unwritten,
undisturbed.
White the snowfall
smiling at moonbeams
blanketing all
that is naked, frowning,
jagged, sluggish,
deflowered; a face lifted
in shining surrender
to kisses of whiteness
saying, You are mine,
child of beauty,
undisclosed.
White the gleaming robe
garbing your realness
illuminating all
that was ageless, standing,
central, prolific,
untinted; a face upheld
like a cup receiving
a draught of sweet coldness
quenching all flames
of false reason
unproven.
White now the hand
that brands your sham children
divulging all
that is swerving, synthetic,
fallen, unthinkable,
inert; a face bending
from a towertop
in colors of defiance
refusing the daylight
of quiet walking
unfettered.
Welcome to the poetry page!
Whoa, now Gandalf has two poems, so he gets his own page.......
~*~Shadowfax~*~ From forts of ravaged rainbows and wrecked stars
from the inverted tunnel of red dawn
the new day's arrows glance from your hot coat
of pearl and mithril, chasing my dry night
and cleansing my tired whiteness all anew.
Your pounding wakes the hollowed crust to hope
your muscled haste fulfils my destiny.
No master am I, and no beast are you
partners we in this our fevered lunge
our separate bloods and breathings merging as
war's horns dictate our imperative dance.
And when victory's dead tree blossoms fresh
and all freed wastelands cradle their first spring
and forgiveness is the song of life
we'll cross the heaving waves still bound as one
horse and rider, winged in healing space.
~*~White....~*~
White the heavenlight,
with purpose unbroken
revealing all
that is actual, solid,
given, tender,
alive; a face raised
in contemplation
of skygems teaching
no unholy variance;
white page unwritten,
undisturbed.
White the snowfall
smiling at moonbeams
blanketing all
that is naked, frowning,
jagged, sluggish,
deflowered; a face lifted
in shining surrender
to kisses of whiteness
saying, You are mine,
child of beauty,
undisclosed.
White the gleaming robe
garbing your realness
illuminating all
that was ageless, standing,
central, prolific,
untinted; a face upheld
like a cup receiving
a draught of sweet coldness
quenching all flames
of false reason
unproven.
White now the hand
that brands your sham children
divulging all
that is swerving, synthetic,
fallen, unthinkable,
inert; a face bending
from a towertop
in colors of defiance
refusing the daylight
of quiet walking
unfettered.