Whose hands will bear my dreams
the life of my life, in what you seem to be
a blue vision in my mind, a hard blowing wind
but so much pleasing, like a mournful sound
singing in its shyness, only to me.

Whose cheeks will bear my longing tears
heavenly marked with suppressing shadows
here on a fitting space to dig a lover’s grave
while the moon is pallid white, sweeping
far from thy dearest self of all aims.

Whose heart will ever bear my plagued eyes
for not seeing you, my only, my most beloving friend
a waste of secret flames, dancing away
and of a foolish heart, that speaks,
neglecting, that I must live my life
my all expectations, in youthful passion.

Whose mind will bear my fantasies
hidden from my own countenance
they live like stormy clouds that fold you.
They brake the ice, they turn blind into seeing
the reddest roses growing, making flames of beauty
they fly upon a hot stream of Nothing.

Whose arms will once bear my memory
or leave it in the lap of fresh new grass
to rest for the early flourishing spring
the morning that stands in ripening art
the beauty within you, that brightening moment
and to Fate ,that love and life restore.

Dec 2016 ©k.c.