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Sonnet 8 The Imperial EmperorA prison grows from days of almost rain in which no heart will break the silent wall or loose a hardened face to friendship's call when country claims all love, and duty, same. In daylight or in shade, this man can't gain. The shadow of his throne as yet looms tall for that shape forms the land and carries all but one man's private pleasures or his pain. Perhaps the rain could come to touch his skin as now it touches peasants tilling fields if he'd been common born far from this place. Still this dream ends; at waking he begins his daily contemplation whence he yields &nbSonnet 8 The Imperial Emperor
by ~crylorenzo
Walking Out On A MovieI could explain the right and wrong of why. I could tell you it's a form of death, but you wouldn’t understand me. We have had this conversation before. You told me, “Give it a chance.” I did, against my better judgment. But I have been here before. Not in a past life, this one. I inevitably walk out with wasted time.Walking Out On A Movie
Maybe you look at me as I go. I don’t look back. Maybe you think I’m intolerant or I need to loosen up. I don’t need more loose screws. Maybe you think it’s as harmless as chocolate ice cream.
by ~crylorenzo
After StormsThe clouds command. The appearance of blue is merely a shadow Cast by giants: Soldiers in the sky Whose quiet rage will soon sound against the gray.After Storms
They march forward, Past a silent village: A refuge for the sun Who is not afraid to seek shelter within a country farm
To be reborn after rain.
The cattle listen And low clearly as a warning bugle
by ~crylorenzo
The First VineyardA pinwheel spins at the end of the driveway and, across the road, a vineyard runs uphill and out of sight before the final row.The First Vineyard
Yet neither is moving away. Endlessness waits in a line of emerald leaves and a crawling space beneath,
hidden by the upward slope.
The pinwheel creaks at every moving car, but cannot be heard in passing.
I am listening, fool though I am, sitting on the edge of the road, wishing I could enter the deserted vineyard: an open land, a heart I have not touched.
I long to be welcomed beyond the fence: to j
by ~crylorenzo
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