Poems 1

Two poems I wrote.

Know every pain pricks to livelier life,
every wrong retells the beautiful right,
we eat the stoic lies we tell ourselves;
never forget we hold our private hells
and temper ourselves with selfish fire,
to be forever worthy to admire.


They are still here

When dawn arrives.

Brushing away

her long nightsky

wound 'round her ear

and down her back,

he wants to stay

but he subtracts.