A Little Self-Promotion

I’ve created a Facebook page for my ‘official author’ presence. If you’re interested, swing by, take a look, and maybe give it a ‘Like.’ I’ll use it to post regular updates as I have pieces published (of course I’ll still post stuff here). Thanks for following and for looking!

Rob Salem on Facebook

Advertisements

Watching Heroes Fall

No one wants to watch the hero fall,
to lose his grace, to lose his faith.
No one wants to see the pain
or bear witness to his failure
as a light falters, flickers and fades.
No one wants to watch the darkness
encroach and slowly swallow
all sense of hope.
They only want the pillar,
the mountain, the rock,
the guiding beacon in the night,
the fire that keeps the dark at bay.
But for the hero the fall
is part of the journey,
part of what makes him rise
above what others only dream;
it is the fire in which he is forged,
the sacred duty which he must perform…
…alone.

The Poet’s Sin

To create is to destroy,
to bring about the death
of that which you give life.
From the moment
of their utterance
words begin to fade,
waiting to be forgotten,
misused, misplaced,
and in time are only
as the passing of the wind.
This is the artist’s curse –
to destroy that which we love
in the act of its creation,
to condemn it to death
through an act of love.
And thus, in the doing,
we bleed, we die,
for what we give the world.
And I die in what I have made.

The Last

There was no end in the beginning,
there was no forever, no always.
There was only the moment,
eternal and pure, perfect and sacred.
There was no distance too great between us,
nor hours that could not be counted;
there was nothing but what we shared,
no fear of what could be.
And now the miles that separate
have turned the hours into months,
and the distance ever widens
turning forever into yesterday.
There was no end in the beginning,
no thought of what would be;
there was only hope and promise,
and there was only you and me.
But now, at the last,
I see the end that we created,
in its eventuality,
and I wish that we could stall it
for one more moment in eternity.

Sonnet II

The light removed foretells the winter’s cold,
leaving barren, bitter the soul that weeps;
and black is night when o’er me it takes hold,
with naught but my mem’ries and dreams to keep.
There’s only now the fading light of love
now dying slowly like the summer flame,
to give me hope that my treasured white dove
will find her peace and remember warm days.
But waiting, waiting ever shall I be
for light’s return and summer’s golden rays,
looking for hope in the coming of spring,
and the cleansing of sins in April rains.
For now the grey of winter grips the land,
and I watch helpless as love slips my hand.
 
 

The Muse weighs heavy on me tonight.

A Sonnet

If I am to be what I cannot be,
and only play the role that I am asked,
then I would rather that I be not seen,
and allow this moment instead to pass.
But in the stars in the jeweled heavens,
and in the sun and moon that never meet,
I have found company in my treason,
and silent vigil o’er my heart they keep.
Though would I not rather embrace the moon!
And there in her light whilst defying Fate,
as when an August evening wove its rune,
I’d kindle passion and its yearnings sate;
But I am to be nothing more than this –
a sun in shadow, who longs for your kiss.
 
 

My first attempt at a Shakespearean/Elizabethan style (or any style) sonnet. Just thought I’d explore some traditional forms of poetry a little.