In the West,
with the rest,
should’ve guessed,
but was blessed,
on the edge,
of time’s ledge.
So indeed,
we concede,
that belief,
is a leaf,
on a wind,
in a bend.
What a task,
could the mask,
upon such a face,
of such a race,
contrive to hide,
beauty-suicide?
Perhaps when,
“we were then,”
is a thing,
to seldom sing,
and recompense
becomes suspense.
We must wonder if she’ll ever come back.
Rise, Goddess;
Queen of blood,
of temples and beauty,
of madness and love.
Rise from the ashes,
of a life you once lived,
and rise to embrace,
the world as it is.
For hidden in shadow,
of legends tall,
of myths ancient,
is a magic that calls.
So rise, Goddess,
rise to its song.
Embrace darkness.
Enlighten yourself.
Rise up to greet
the world and,
make it your muse.
For deceptions abound,
and mystery surrounds,
but you’ll tear them both down,
For you, Goddess,
are rising,
and this world
in your waters,
shall drown.
Sweat Glistens.
You listen–
skin-to-skin–
to my lesson.
The heart beat is true,
but one of few,
yet to be felt,
‘tween thee and you
Sex clings to air,
fingers grip hair.
So sealed are your fates,
of impassioned despair.
Stuttered breathing.
Milk-white breasts,
heaving.
Hefted in-hand,
what devious seething.
Miles away,
‘tween millions of days,
none can deny,
the animal sway.
It could be wrong,
but long heard’s the song,
of those now regretful;
“don’t worry, just do it,”
and
“cause life isn’t long.”
But the sea’s in your eyes,
and though known to defy,
even shallow oaths,
should now make you comply,
for recall there’s nothing so cutting,
as the sound of “goodbye.”
One more last page.
One more closed book.
I’ve said it all before.
I’m never on the hook.
If only I could write,
every thought at light speed,
perhaps then the pages,
wouldn’t be worth a re-read.
Until then the seas,
and sun and moon,
the stars,
serve as my guides,
my only prison bars.
So one last page,
and one more new book.
I’m nowhere near done,
keep on the “out” look.
I haven’t even started.
S. M. Nolan's Sci-Fi Logbook 