Dagonus

With twenty-three red roses He knew the answer found Planned and aimed He yearned to hear her sound For two he'd bind it tight With twenty-five white strands One for all the waiting Across her o so perfect hand For thirty moments lost At what good grace could make With tiny hands and fingers He was caught, for beauty's sake In thirty-five bounds he'd move Down Christmas covered stair They'd laugh and shout She's smile beneath her hair For forty days they sat Upon good beastly backs Above all of her protests His was a mule named Jack For sixty minutes staring Cross open lake at dawn Marvelling at wonder And the feathers

Solid, unmoving, Insults hurled, Hearts cast, It stands, untouched. Though inert, Rock yearns to reach, But cannot touch, Left lying still. Left, it stands, Alone For want of animate And feeling.

At what point do you gamble? Are your reckless or safe as can be? How sure must you be? A Little Perfect? A Pair? The odds are better than one in three. Slightly Perfect? Three of a kind? Worse than one in forty-seven. More Perfect? Four of a Kind? Four thousand one hundred sixty-five to one against. Nearly perfect? Royal Flush? One in six hundred forty-nine thousand seven hundred forty. Dead Perfect? In Spades? One in two million five hundred ninety-eight thousand nine hundred sixty. The next hand will always look better. If you never raise, you'll be out bluffed. Throw 'em in and play.

Even ships that are long overdue pull into port eventually. When time and meaning have faded away to endlessness, The ragged sailors come on through. Poseidon's crushing waves could only hold them for so many eons. Their long lost eyes search for homes that aren't there. Time is lost to them. Their ships hit sandy bottoms that once were long below. Where are the trumpets home? Where is Athena's open arms? They're still the boys who left their homes. The world is so much bigger now, And tiny like a ball. Slowly the world catches back to them: Nothing remains from old and everything Is always still the same. Who will greet the

You're so brave and strong as you looked to me; expecting to see strength and iron. I lied so well to give you that. You never had to see my tears run through your mother's hair to her blouse. I placed the tickets in your tiny hand, so cold. I never cared for baseball, but how could I say no when that's all you said you wanted? You never did ask for much. The soaked dirt encases my suit but I cannot find it in me to move The world freezes spins for my mind How could I protect you from what I could not see? My selfish heart begs you here I'd trade the world for you to ask why, instead of me; for your tears instead of mine;

In just a moment twisted time deep set wound so scarcely stitchéd mine wrenched open darkley runs as thine heart fails to heed and starts to pine for the maiden wooed the hearts combined

From behind massive, impenetrable, aluminum and glass, Verdun fortifications which were the blue-mirrored sunglasses with silver-colored frames hiding his deep emerald green eyes which had both made the skin of those he despised crawl and had proved to be the greatest betrayer of everything he really felt, which is what deep down he knew was really what simply made him human and not the weakness that caused him all his pain, his voice, barely audible as though he was scared of the truth that was about to whisper its way between his lips and out into the cool summer's breeze to her eagerly waiting ears, managed to work out the simple statement

I went sailing yesterday, upon the jello sea. Its waves were amber, green and none of them the same. The sea, so sweet and clear was ev'ry child's dream of endless treats and careless days so young. The storm crept in, quiet and without call. My eyes afixed on sunset's din, were never the storm to see. Our rigging tore out; the wind too strong, the boat too weak, and our hearts disguised within. Our ship, she moaned. She creaked. She groaned. Our guns, so useless here. And I stood, frozen with fear. The waves tossed up and all around I, alone, saw men drown in that sweet, delicious, jello sea. My legs gave out as

If for no other reason than because she had extended her hand and taken his arm, while he was reattaching the last few pieces of his broken heart, after he had bore to her the truth of his fear of discovering that again someone might shatter his heart and leave him to put the pieces together again, following his tale of love's joy with another and how the other had had eyes of diamonds, hair of silk and a body to kill, how the other had thrust him into waters he never knew possible, pulled him out again, just to show him the world, how deep and passionate it all had been, all before the other had left him, he allowed himself to be taken with

My hole is deep dark and dank. My hole is where I bury fears; writhing slithering fears, whose talons have held my life too long. My hole is mine and mine alone. My hole is all my pride. I have often fallen short of many wandering things. "What's it for?" They ask me hoping just to know. My hole is blood bile and beer. My hole is really all my own. I never answer and am left the lunatic. My hole endless and empty. My hole is where I forget my love.