Poetry, or Expression through Verse

Authored by George A. Miu

If I could pray for you I would.
But alas, I know not how.

But if I know something good,
(It's only natural that I should),
I know never to close the door
On the thing I most adore.

And if no-one will recall
All the open miracle
Of your eyes
(Which glow, so strong)
And your lips
(Which kiss, so sweet)
Then I'll know to never trust
A single soul.

But when they do, en masse,
Inside me,
Raise with such a youthful pride,
My love,
Former hands so strained, so sullen
Break above all hallow ground
Rising softly, softly found!

And the second piece...

Slowly, like rats in sewers I skulked
beaming down on all the dispositions of the sky reflected,
there and back again in puddles.

I did not know how long I went thus;

Somewhere there's an introspective symmetry,
a passive passion
silhouetted against veiled mid-morning lights,
croaking angrily at the darkness overhead.

There is no telling how long this has been.

When much path was beaten down in little steps,
A strained gebbeth appeared afore me
no voice to voice but mine, it swished and hacked at my chords
and left no standing strength within me.

Nobody could know how far this came;

And when my suffering had trickled to its apex,
it gladly took its leave, in flight, and buzzed,
a monstrous being silhouetted against the mid-night.

There is no telling how long this went.