john_silver
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My stories
Saturday Sonnet: To the Nephew
I seldom write of death. I’m still too young; My pen has yet to spell of lives dispelled, And when I walked my way, the hand I held Was not the shadow I’ll hold down the long
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Alcmene
I do not know you, my friend, As the one who traced the line Of my prologues like a vine, Eve to eve, and end to end. I only know you as the one Who caught my thunder while it turned
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Helios
This is a poem that I write Because the words have failed the tongue. This is a canticle of night Because my grail has spilled the sun. I was religious, though I thought
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- 887 reads
Orpheus
It's not to leave, but to return That matters to this fallen plume. I took an echo from an urn Of empty pride to be a tune Of peace and words of friendship, and I followed it into the bottom
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Library
No, I shall not; I’ve had enough Of libraries as mute as moons, Of limpid autumn afternoons For sharing books and quotes and fluff. One whole season I’ve been lost
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- 1260 reads