Irish Angst Love Poetry

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Through Time and Space
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I'm the one who knows your scent
and misses you;

Your shadow wakes me at dawn
and I rise to see the sun smilin'

I hear your whisper in the static
on the phone;

I'm alone.



Wasn't that you in your red sweater the other day?
the one with the hole in the right elbow?

I wear your circle of life ring
as if it's power could save me from my madness.

I am mad--at God, Nature, the shortness of time;
disease.

Pain.

I climb out of my emotional hole
reach foir my meds, and swallow.

Keep watch for my arrival. You promised.

[Morgan Starr]

day break

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Originally Posted by Morgan Starr

day break

You got it.

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written in 2007 while in Montana---



Come Lover
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"Come", she begged, tugging my hand.
"Fly with me, for the winds are calling our names
and the chimes are ringing in the zephyr."

"Journey with me to a new land,
a land of peace, tranquility
and restored dreams."

"No," she cried, "Do not hesitate!
for the moment is now, this second;
in this we have redemption."

" Come back; be loathe to depart;
do not turn from me... linger, my love,
fantasies and illusions will merge
into desire
and we will become one."

"Your restless spirit will be calmed;
your head will lie between soft pillows,
nature's gift to me for your pleasure."

"Come," she pleaded more urgently.
"Your wings are sprouting; I feel your need
out of the flow of years;
denied for so long."

"Yes," she moaned as if the wind
had taken her.
"Close your eyes to me now
and we will kindle, ignite,
nevermore left wanting."

[Morgan Starr]

The Sun and The Moon

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One Hundred Years or More
cwhite 2008


Behold her as she walks the night
searching for her guiding star;
Watch her as she glides through mist
yearning long lost lover's kiss

See her arms outstretched,
longing,
as she closes near

Hear her voice softly calling
will no one tell me of her song?

Does she beckon in mournful sorrow?
Or moan in melancholy?
Her voice a tinseled strand of silver
ringing through faded memories

Her laughter once full and clear
gone these years so long
Her smile, a tender blanket
Frayed now with overuse

Blue eyes called up to gaze
into mine own before
the worldly ways slipped to forsaking
a hundred years or more

The dew of morn sits on my skin
like mist of Avalon;
I bide till night descends once more,
as empires await their conquerors.