Thursday, November 17, 2011

36. Le plus doux rêve

You gave me something more than friendship
- so I thought,
and I, my youthful self, so foolish,
followed close -
through sunlit paths as daylight faltered,
Such radiance seemed otherworldly:
in such light,
I was illuminated by you,
loved and praised.
We watched the leaves twirl, golden-dusted,
rains had danced;
the dying autumn sang its prayers.
Wrung of words,
I watched you say goodbye one final,
final time –
oh, just for one more fleeting day in friendship
such as this:
a thousand grand, exotic operas
could not know
the simple happiness you gave me,
my sweetest dream.


  1. Would I appear to overpraise if I said that your agility with various verse-forms is an inspiration? I like your experimentation with syllable-count in this and in other poems. This form seems especially well-chosen (of course, it could be said that the form chooses the poet, rather than the other way around)!

    Well done.

  2. Yes, it's hard to say...sometimes I think that the strange rhyme schemes possess me. :)

  3. Your poetry is always so beautiful, I find it a treat to read. :) I've never really been one for poetry, but something about yours really draws me in. Something in them just builds so beautifully as you read, and I love all the emotion you pack in with relatively few words.

    So I've been wondering this for a while now, but is there something in particular that inspires you to write poetry? Just curious. :)

  4. Thingbe, thanks. I am simply this horribly insecure, awkward, lonely, self-pitying adolescent who has this pathological need to express and to create.

    And whether it is through music, poetry, or otherwise, I devote so much of my energy creating this universe where anything is possible. And in a strange way, in search for greater truth, I find myself slipping into a greater realm of esotericism...


One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson