Goldenrod

Call back and sigh,

Once more for each eye

That splits apart the sun with brighter beams,

At least this is how it always seems

When trying to stare through the eclipse of you.

Call out with quips,

For your hips and lips

That send shivers first enigmatic orange

Then waves until the eye bends round again,

Then rolls the vision far away from where it belongs.

Call within your lair,

For each strand of hair

That catches in the thorny wind

And tussles in such a messy way,

But no one would daren’t say for you to change it.

What a list,

So easy made

By hands of small and finer nature,

Not the rough sandpaper

Kinds that most search for, signs of labor

Are lost on these pretty things

That work harder than it may seem,

But ah, in voice, my choice, my choice

Has made me frail and less becoming,

Still I stand and use my hands

To try and catch the stunning

Light that cuts quite right

Through the very sun til God wants to blink,

It’s this I think

That I’ll remember,

Though we shall not be together.

And what a list,

So easy made,

By mind of sharper nails than most,

Though I do not like to boast,

I think that I shall be far greener

In the caverns of my pants

Than all those who labor with their hands,

Yet still seems folly

To do as I do,

To try and woo

Someone like you.

But call me fool, for that is me,

Who spends his timeless eternity

Pounding black on white in patterns

That most can see but few do care

To see again.

And what a list,

So easy wrote,

And on and on and on I dote,

For this is my gift: to write, to talk,

To think and dream and sit and walk

But never run or race, it would be death

To try and increase the pace

Of my heart which beats for you alone,

Or perhaps it beats with blood and air,

I sometimes must believe the latter,

For if it beat just for you, I’d be dead

Of all these words, those were most true.

For what chance have I

Before I die,

To trangress to heaven early while I breathe

And be with you like I conceive?

Call back and sigh,

For you and I,

Caught in the dying light

Of a star that is not so bright

As the golden eyes of a friend.

Oh heart, my heart, it shall not mend.