Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Brief Hour of Youth-Intellectual

Those were days of majic,
When all the world was young.
I could debate with ease,
Convinced that I was right.

Those were days of vigor,
All the world was at loss.
I had all the wisdom,
Or so I once thought.

Youth grows old and palsied,
Youth's brightness turns to dust.
It ceases to be bold,
It ceases to be carefree.

Once I feared my old age,
My loss of timeless youth,
But I had my hour,
I loved it for what it was.

All that is good in man
Will come to its own end.
It loses its time and place
And makes way for the new.

The Brief Hour of Youth-Athletic

Those were days of majic,
When all the world was young.
I could run with the wind,
With not a breathless step.

Those were days of delight,
I had not lost my youth.
All my vigor was mine,
I had not slowed my step.

Youth grows old and palsied,
Youth's brightness turns to dust.
It ceases to be bold,
It stops being carefree.

Once I feared my old age,
My slowing endurance,
But I had my hour,
I loved it for its sake.

All that is good in man
Will come to its own end.
It loses its time and place
And makes way for the new.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Carlotta

How can you hold the dream from her eyes,
Once she has felt the feel of power?
She was snatched by the searing flame at sunrise
From the fabulous forms of pharohs.

Never tell of the nothingness
Of her long search for a vacant throne.
She must never know she is sanity
In a mad, Malivachian world.

She sits in still, sad madness
In her long, flowing royal robes,
Commanding armies that will never march,
Commanding audiences with servants of state.

She stood sadly in her tears,
As they led Maximillian to the wall
To a reality she would never know,
The empress has stayed forever in the past.