In A November Day.


I am troubled in my dreams, troubled to wake up

cause fate gives no answer, no prize.

I turn to you in my choked silence

when every struggle brings only defeat

no secret, no light and nothing to tell.


With white cheeks, with clenched hands

here in the quiet limit of my world

I listen to thy folded wings, so heavy

to bare your solemn thoughts

when words cannot picture my blind loss.


The wild roses and vine, are withering

slowly much like my bright breast,

shortening my sighs my air and my steps

And all too important to miss

in  the days caught in a vague shimmer .


A soft morning sky blows the clouds apart

stealing the mysterious gloom,

the glare in those tremulous eyes of yours

that beat me down from my wills

thy presence, thy pure brows of security.


Now with kisses balmier than a whispering sigh,

softly warm like the skin of a child,

That is my gift to shake off the darkness

to make lively curls into sunny smiles

before thy half-opening lips know,

what is sweet and what is wild.


In a November day.