You

You.
When I think of Poetry, I think of you. I think of you when I think of love, sadness, heartbreak, remorse, last chances, longing, regret, despair...and hope.
You.
I told you that all my poems are about you, deep down, if you really search for it, you can see your name in small print on every piece of paper I've ever written on. Like the one you threw at me in English when you were bored, crumpled, yet blank, and begging for redemption, so I wrote on it, in less than three minutes, you said,  one on the best things I ever wrote, and you told me you're writing sucks.
You.
I should be over you. That's what they say, that heartaches grow less with each passing day.Why is it only now that the rain tastes bitter to me, like the tears of a thrice widowed woman? And I, the rose that she throws at their graves, like my eternally blank Wikipedia page, where it says: Madeline Fraser, Born: April 8,1998, Married:                                                                                                                                           Because that is one wish I cannot force to come true. I can't even say your name, only..."You"

When the Gods Were Young

Once, in the strange and lovely time,

Before the mortals came,

When all men spoke in song and rhyme,

There was a terror with no name.

'Twas a ghastly beast that roamed the land,

A giant snake with eagle's head,

If tooth and nail stopped not your hand,

Its very breath would strike you dead.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

None did dare to face the Beast,

As the demon was aptly named.

Some did try hard, at least,

Merely to return, ashamed.

All were afraid, all hope was lost,

Who would dare to fight? None.

After all, one's life is quite a cost.

That is, a cost to all but one.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

 When the Youth attacked the Beast,

His face was whole and brave.

The sun returned to her home in the East,

And the Youth was not but a broken knave.

As the Beast felt that it had won,

The youth's true love did then appear.

Her beauty shone as bright as the sun,

And her skill cannot be bested with sword or spear.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

Believe me as I tell you,

This Maid was the goddess supreme.

And surely, every word is true,

For this charming girl was Amaline.

The lovers met, embracing in their joy,

The beast lay still upon the ground,

And the Youth grinned as like a boy,

For only here, in Love's sweet grasp, can happiness be found.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young. 

Now the Youth's mind does wander,

Traveling through the depths of time.

He recalls a Memory from yonder,

When he met his love sublime.

He was but child then,

And she a pretty lass,

But he was determined to have her,

And now he held her fast.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young. 

And there, the Youth, with heart of bronze,

Did stand, frozen with fear untold.

As the whistling, waving fern fronds,

Did reveal a Maid with hair of gold.

He does not show, with word or breath,

The beauty that he's seen.

A secret he'll carry until his death,

Of the bathing Amaline.

O in the magical, mystical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

He smiles as he remembers,

There by the lake's warm shore.

His love's fire shan't dim to embers,

Then fade forevermore.

He looks at her,

She gazes back,

Her eyes as green as fir,

His eyes, like coal, are black.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

Later now, the Youth grows old,

And yet the Maid stays fine

Her hair is gold,

Her face is pale, divine.

He loves her still,

Though now he Passes On,

He'll surely care for her until

He can no longer see the Dawn.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

When the Youth did fade, it seems,

Great Isleth came for his Spirit.

The Maid now sees his face in dreams,

Though she cannot near it.

She sets forth on a mighty quest,

So that she might see her love once more,

She marches across the wild Gresst,

To knock upon Death's door.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

Isleth opened up her home to sister Amaline,

Tis not surprising, for these were the days,

Before she was the queen.

Isleth is cunning, and begs that she stays,

To keep the Youth's soul hidden,

For she knows that if this one man left,

Nine children, Amaline would give him,

And would rule the world, hill and cleft.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

But Amaline, she knows her sister's clever,

And asks of her to see her Lover one last time.

Once more, Isleth agrees, then part with him forever.

The two however, trust not the word of bitter lime.

Each one plans a secret scheme,

One to kill, one to live,

Each enters the other dream,

Evil secrets are not to give.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

Magic wrought, and Magic hidden,

A mighty battle then ensued.

Isleth feared the Nine strong children,

Each with element imbued.

She knew, deep within her heart of hearts,

As the sky was rent with reds and blues,

As her sister drove her with poisoned darts,

This was a battle that she would lose.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

After battling through day and night,

Racing up and down the hills,

The two gave up their mighty fight,

Retreated back to count their kills.

Beside the women stood Avendor,

For that was the Youth's true name,

Amaline had won their war,

The pointless killing game.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

Amaline returned to the Sky,

Isleth in shadows stood,

She watched over those who'd die,

Her sister, over all that's good.

Children raised in the ancient way,
Herald'd by the gods of light,
Guarding over ever day,
And every single night.

O, in the mystical magical time,

When the Gods,

When the Gods were young.

I see you

1
Though I never saw you
I see you now.
Can hear your thoughts on blood
And on marriage.

2
More and more I dwell
On you, all your poems
All you saw, and thought
And did not write.

3
Why am I called to you now?
For three years your book
Has sat there, read only
On occasion, till now.

4
Now I see your beauty, your truth.
Now I want to emulate you, copy you
Become your disciple, your loyal
Apprentice, learn your skill.

5
Your poems seem illogical to me
For I can hear only half the noise
Cannot read
The dialogue in your mind.

6
I cannot be like you, for you
Had a life, filled
With joy, and sorrow
And experience that I lack.

7
But I can try. I can throw
My eager self at your books,
Read, absorb, as is my wont
Then exude, as is yours.

8
Caution. Be that my watchword?
I have none now. I long to chase
The fragile dream of fame
Though your own was bitter sweet.

9
Who was LG? I cannot
Copy, if I do not know.
Man? So you said to him.
Woman? Somehow, I do not know.

10
Oh author, oh mage
Oh creator life, you
Who have done all
That I have not.

11
Why now? Why not before?
I arose yesterday with a burning urge
To write an ode to you. This I did.
Perhaps I shall publish it someday.

Chrysanthemum Tears

Long life, tainted by recollection of things unsaid

Things undone.

Unraveled. Twisted. A mangled mirage of muddled fractures.

Reflections, now, mingling with the shattered dreams.

Did I forget you too soon?

After I

Dismissed you

Out of hand?

Surplus, I said.

Excess

Redundant

Superfluous

Unnecessary

Useless.

I wish I had not sent you away so quickly. I may have needed you.

But I remember.

Still.

And shed you one chrysanthemum tear.