The Poetry Of Ezra HilyerSelected poems gleaned from my journals and notebooks.
A wandering rain has come to our valley
dripping globes on darkened pavement -godless tears.
I look up, and wonder where the winds will push
the towers of billowing sadness next?
We caught a glimpse of a rainbow beside the mountain of night,
just a ray or purple off to the left.
Still the patter of sorrow falls on uncaring houses,
and slides down upturned faces…
I thought I heard the laughter of children,
half muffled by far off thunder.
We whispered above the battling gods,
and the sound of pounding hooves, but
when we looked into the past -all misty with forgetfulness,
it seems we cried out our fears to the winds,
all wet with wandering rains.
Tides And Chance
I am an island soul, forgotten in the waters.
Beset by summer tempests, greeted by winter’s silence,
with the white sand for company, the surf for soliloquy.
She was a sky blue skiff, under the morning sun.
Anchored in the harbor, when the tide was in,
beached by chance, on my windswept manse.
With wary eyes I waited, watched her dance.
Her feet only lightly brushing the seaweed and shells,
the wind played with her raven tresses.
Dare I disturb such angelic glory as this?
So I retreated back again into the darkness from whence I came,
leaving her; a twirling goddess, and myself dreaming and lost.
The morning brought cold mists, and empty sand.
Leaving me with the tide; returning to me my barren coast.
I rushed to the beach with a wail and shout,
but I found that the tide was out.
Leaves Of Fear
Whoever walks that leaf scattered path, wakes the past
soft steps of memory littering my mind
footsteps gentile and patient, I know she means well.
The white coats are all around me now,
I can smell their sterilized hands on my thin face of fear
as she gently brushes the leaves from my hair.
You were the little girl, running and hiding behind
those tattered trees that shrouded the sun, and even in the day
please tell me why I only see the moon?
The vial of psycho drug induced memory is under my nose again
a viper of snake oil and tears
and my girl of the past is dissolving into bed sheet tears.
Try and forget -they tell me
so I shrug and embrace my chemical tryst
with the leaves of fear.
The coals in the hearth have burned out,
only a faint hint of warmth leaks now from the ashes.
My rocking chair creaks in soft rhythm,
keeping pace with the clock on the wall, and the wasting away of days.
Sunken in revoir and weariness of age,
my thin frame is stretched skin, and cracked bones.
I am the wizened shade of ancient days, silently reflecting on a time long lost,
or a half forgotten past.
Those eyes were bright with the fire of youth,
and the folly of as yet un-lived years.
Shallow entwined serpents, bathing in fallen leaves.
Flushed faces that once dripped sweaty kisses, and dropped blunted endearments
on the polished floor.
When skin was bronze; and carved by the sculptor of greek tragedies,
where ripples of loam broke over the flesh in waves,
given life by the summer winds,
and the tears of nameless gods.
The eyes I remember most: they are pools of cooled steel,
the color of darkness and love-lost.
The words that twisted the rhymes apart
I do not know.
Though I often awake, grasping and crying for them.
Shattered By The Storm
Like snow you sift through my soul,
Granules; gritty and frozen.
As if you are some elemental torture,
The shame of the mountain; made ice.
I fight to the crest, a black beetle,
Creeping up the freezing peak.
You rain stone mixed with fire to dislodge me,
Shaking, rumbling, quaking in fear.
My ax cuts deep, driving a silver point deep,
Into your crystal armor.
Fissures spread; spiders weaving bright webs of danger,
I hang suspended by mere hope.
My fight to catch the summit is overwhelming,
My goal is all my fever.
Your eyes are ice, your lips a jagged ravine,
Here I am, buffeted by your love,
Shattered by the storm.
Wanna talk poetry?
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