The Beauty That Never Fades

Hers is a beauty that can never fade

Because hers is a beauty of the heart

And benevolence always outlives

The shadowed day, and sunlit dawn.

It is not through a voice that words

Are spoken, it is through silence,

And speechless paradigms

That true kindness radiates…

And gleams, and shines, and beckons…

Flickers, gleams and calls

To the brightest star I’ve ever seen.

And if that light was taken from above,

Heaven would be the darkest dusk.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

My Tongue

It is my tongue that is tied

In the most magnificent fashion—

A faultless knot bound by sorcery

Unbeknownst to the kindly folk.

It is that simple organ—the organic

Hymn teller, word speller, thin

Leather organ that I cannot control.

For it seems to possess a subtle fancy

Geared towards forging its own distress—

Diving in the book of my own desire,

It tears the pages, and smartly smiles,

As if it feeds off my displeasure.

It is my tongue, my speech maker,

The word creator within my jaw

That jousts me with incomplete sayings,

And fragments of sentences

Which I always seem to speak.

It plummets me into proven silence,

And shifts my gaze towards my feet,

Which linger well beneath

The metacognitive and battered belfry

That never seems complete.

It is my tongue I would trade,

And return in exchange for

A thousand repeated rambles,

Or at least, a single, settled smile.

Down The Road

Somewhere down the road,

I hope to give my heart to you,

The only gift I have to share—

The epitome of a peddler’s joy.

And—I think—I would like

To fall in love too, so I may

Hold you near at each opportune.

Somewhere down the road,

I would like to be yours

So that you may be mine too—

We could live hand in hand,

On the always summered shore.

For it seems I always dream of love

By you, no matter where I am.

Somewhere down the road,

I hope to always be true

So your delicate hand and my

Fumbled grasp could lock once more

And we could be forever, you and me—

A companioned grasp with vows

In a pair of loving eyes

    DannYetman
www.danielyetman.com

The Words Wrote

It’s along the way, the story is wrote,

And the stain of spilt ink is binding.

It causes disbelief of ever finding

The happy ending of a finished quote.

Lyrics in your head weave and rumble—

Wed tales of enemies, a princess and a quest—

A tale of dragons nimbly soaring west,

To encircle the tower you must humble!

It is the words that are bound by fear,

That are caused by the magi’s paws—

That drop your sword when the cause

Of all your sleepless nights stands so near…

But if such a tale is to be spoken,

If there is an ending to fit the lore,

The wyvern has been slain in war

And by sunset, dismay is broken

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com

Parting

It never gets easier to say goodbye,

If anything with each parting my

Heart grows more fond—and

The severance claws at my thoughts

With a strength I dare not describe.

Each time it seems our paths divide again

I am left wanting to call out—

To shout out, to do anything

To keep you from disappearing—

Let it be for just one day,

Or even a second, in either case,

I would miss you just the same.

I’ve grown so weary of lying awake,

Listening to the sound of my own

Ever thumping heartbeat—

It seems sleep never comes,

And I think… That’s alright—

Because while I remain conscious

I’m bombarded with a thousand images,

Of your beautiful, beautiful smile.

Every time we part, I wonder,

How it is possible for me to take

My next breath, knowing that

You will not be near.

To this day, I still don't know,

And I'm sure I never will.

Gold

It’s the ghastly image of gold,

The lingering levity of passion sold…

Your soul! The passive frame

That, within, holds your shame,

Built of bitter, unbenevolent stewing,

The storm’s eternal brewing…

But gold! Gold keeps your eyes apart,

Gold may always hold your heart.

Aye, it is a dastardly demon within

Who paws at strings with a growing grin—

And causes the loathsome ache,

Just so he may laugh and see you wake.

That malignant fiend—with pride—beams!

As he casts himself within your dreams,

You have become his favorite toy—

Which he puppeteers with twisted joy.

It is a treasure trail of gold you follow—

It is gold that preens the pride you swallow.

Gold unearthed to forge the wedding band—

Gold in the ring, of he who holds that hand.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com