I Am The Captain

I do not think these thoughts aloud
I only whisper in my mind
Lest I by speech should become proud
Or by imagination find
I've grown upon me, like a rind,
Self-satisfaction, uglily.
So I am in a kind of bind
That presses ever in on me
To touch but only daintily
Upon the thought which would be crowned
Within my soul, to ever be
The emperor of all around:
That I and you are one and will
Remain and joy to be so still.

God and Mammon

The sum of all is I will be with you
That future's mapped, and known, and treasured dear
As are the credits which in time accrue
To balance sheets, or relics which appear
Miraculous in churches, healing ills
That were believed incurable before.
The knowledge of that blessed future stills
My inner sighs, and makes me to my core
Delight in expectation. And I know
Between us there will run, in overall,
A joy that has not, will not, cease to grow
Because we fit together, and each fall
Is but a swoop to rise again, and higher
As sparks that flicker from an endless fire.

? M

Strange thoughts filter through the sleeping keys
As unfelt odd emotions come to play
Slipping by the tired brain to seize
Control, and put the mind out of the way.
An empty evening means an empty head
Filled (since a vacuum always is abhorred)
By things below the sense of mind instead
Unusual, unwished for, untoward.
The manic musings of a brain unselved
May seem a meaning they do not possess
As random volumes randomly unshelved
May, falling open, hint at purpose less
From them internal than from after thought
Which assigns meaning where before was nought.

Hmph

Where are you

Where am I

Why'd I go

But I know why

And you do too

So we both know

The reason for

My distance, yet

We still pretend

That we forget

And ask once more

For it to end

And so it will

But not yet, still.

Changes

The past is not a foreign land

But neither is it heaven's door

It stands but where we used to stand

Than what we did, it can no more.

But there is virtue too in seeing

The way that we once used to be

In noticing our no more being

The past self we look back to see

And in that backward search we find

If we have changed, as change we must,

A somewhat different state of mind

Still recognized, as if on trust,

But different so that we, now grown,

Sometimes find hard to call our own.