by Tommy Guerin

Created on: July 27, 2007

Do you hear it? It's faint like whisper's last confession.
Calmer I am now, its descent is seizing the tension.
Peek through the clouds that muddy your encephalon and gaze at nature's doves.
Dress your eyes and you might envisage poetry's bristles above.
How could cynicism sit beside you on this porch
when its deepest fret is carrying the torch?
The beauteous crystals graced the tree

as it lit the lantern of life in me.
Ah, see how slumberous angels can revive a battered mind
by simply coating mountain-pine.
The crackling fire from inside the cabin is ascending swirls of smoke.
Just a token of homage being sent to peace and his ivory-emblazoned cloak.
Oh my heavenly hosts whose flutter paints the peak.
Sorrow's hold on my creativeness has never been so weak.
But for I'm just a mere dabbler whose poetic sense had strayed.
Your misty-miracles need be elsewhere, for there are frowns that heavily weigh.
Wipe away the tears of weepers who weep for their enlisted soldiers.
You've pulled my sword from out thy stone, now you must broaden your shoulders.
Go and blanket nippers against innocense encroachers.
Blooming minds are far too golden for the world to spell its holders.
Under the morrow's sun, nestlings shall tell the tale
of how hope bestowed his treasured chain-mail.

Snowfall

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