EVENING LINEN

In that created by the night
In darkness 'round the sleeping spells;

Of clouds that seem with drooping eyes
To yawn from milky streams set sail;

Below a pale and borrowed light
In hollows where the giddy stars;

Peek out to flash the evening code
Beyond the moonlights tended yard;

There is a timeless creed instilled
To that unborn of earthly ray;

Who's bed of midnight linen keeps
God's infants lulled to sleep 'til day;

When Angles by their highest rank
With skillful hands begin to weave;

Nights threads into the sparkling shafts
Of light, to wake them from their dreams.

By Roxann Gess Smith
Copyrighted - Reg. and Published - All Rights Reserved




ONE GODLY BREATH

Heaven beholding the battle from high
Shivered regret with a pitiful sigh;

Rumbled remorse with a thundering flash
And looked down on the souls that wept life to the grass;

The smoke and the dust lent but little disguise
To the sorrow that slept in the still of their eyes;

Like that of a grief hidden father unwept
Who losses his first born ill child as he slept;

And quells not the grief of his lingering query
Why God was it he and not me that was buried?

But the pain of the grave doesn't end in the dust
And the soul never heals - it just yields to the thrust;

And the sorrow shall sleep in the still of their eyes
Till the angels ascend with their souls to the sky;

And reckon with heaven their spirits be passed
And He breathes on the souls that have taken their last.

By Roxann Gess Smith
Copyrighted - Reg. and Published - All Rights Reserved




NO BATTLE WON

The valor's sense sheaths not the fool
But yields the sword that pierces cruel;

And thrusts the strike that breaks the heart
When love dismisses every guard;

The trenchant blade shall hew and hack
While with no dazzling splendor flash;

And with no triumph falls the foe
When two have drawn against the soul;

There is no glory, none adorned
No victor rises ore' the sword.

By Roxann Gess Smith
Copyrighted - Reg. and Published - All Rights Reserved




HIS SEA MAIDEN HEATHER

The Captain's eyes were steel cold gray
And bloodshot red from crying;

He held his young bride to his breast
While she was slowly dieing;

The wind was slapping back the masts
And the stinging spray was numbing;

But he rocked his young bride, back and forth
To a tune that he was humming;

Her cheeks like funeral curtains drawn
Into a failing smile;

And her ice blue eyes could ner'er disguise
That she was yet a child;

Across her forehead swept a lock
A golden feathery strand;

The Captain brushed it from her face
With a stiff and frozen hand;

Ner'er did he know that the pounding foam
And the tangled wind together;

Were beating his ship with a salty whip
While he held his dieing, Heather.

His men had long gone overboard
In the only lifeboat left;

And the Captain didn't hear their plea's
To abandon the sinking ship;

His body slumped over to shelter hers
From the bitter cold, icy fray;

That was beating to hell every board and rail
That got in its path of rage;

The Captain looked down in her ice blue eyes
Now fixed in glare of death;

And screamed to the sea, "I'll be damned if she
Shall in thy clutch be swept!"

Then he crawled across the salt soaked planks
Dragging her body with his;

Grappling along the deck on his knees
And fighting to keep his grip;

His hands now fleshless to the bone
He flinches from the pain;

As he reaches up to grab a hold
Of a rusted iron chain;

Still holding on to her in death
He swears that she'll not perish;

Into the fray that would carry her away
On it's emerald green sea carriage;

So he chains her to the cabin wall
Then chains them both together;

He slips his arm around her back
To hold his darling Heather;

The Captain's eyes were steel cold gray
And bloodshot red from crying;

He bound his dead bride to his breast
While he hung there slowly dieing.

By Roxann Gess Smith
Copyrighted - Reg. and Published - All Rights Reserved




NEEDLES AND THREADS AND OLD HOLY FRIENDS

You hung up the curtain you spun from the moss
To cover your window of glass;

Then you made your last bet in a lanolin bed
And you never came clear after that;

You wrung out your threads in a basin of stone
But they still fell apart at the hem;

Now they hang in your gallery, faded and drawn
And they hang for the world to see in;

You took up the slack to even the margins
But you never were one to straight;

So you slipped in and out of your own little cloud
Weaving dust with the silk of a braid;

You once tried to balance it all on one thread
With the needle you hid up your sleeve;

I hung on your window, a lot longer then most
Of the apostles ordained in the weave;

Then you cleared the white angels in a basin of stone
In a tunnel of lanolin beds;

While I hung in the gallery spinning the moss
With the dust of an old holy friend.




WALKING IN MY SLEEP

Who tip-toes through my dreams
On clouds of snow or billowed smoke?

What phantom is this of my sleep
Why trouble resting souls?

Is this my father coming back
Or another friend I grieved?

My last farewells were long ago
Now I greet you in my sleep!

What drapes across your shoulders there?
A flag it would appear;

My God, you are an MIA
And your eyes are filled with tears;

I see no rage, no hate in them
But a glimpse of sorrow dwells;

And the ragged flag looks like it has
Been dragged through the crags of Hell!

Just one lone spirit tip-toes through
From who's dark sea was sent?

He gazes past my troubled eyes
While mercy swells within!

Death had touched him very cruelly
But he sanctified its deed;

"Though I died for God and Country
I prayed for wings to flee!"

"I wasn't brave, as all might think
Death wounds no gallant breast;

The reasons 'not' out numbered
My will to take a breath;"

"Tell my father, I am gone
My mother, not to weep;

My country, that I died for
I'm still walking in my sleep;"

Then an orb of light awoke me
And it drew me to the mirror;

Where I gazed upon my brooding face
Still streaked in mercies tears;

I see my crimson bars are shorn
My stars bleed over white;

MY GOD, I AM AMERICA ...
How can I sleep at night?

More to Follow




1998 Roxann Gess Smith
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