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 Time, I have lost him; I know not the hour,
Though pulsing veins remind me he is there, So, I stay, as vase unto my flower, Exactly where you put me: here in prayer, It comforts me to know the strain of pain, While in these binds I feel I daren’t shift, For you, I do succumb; I gladly deign, My agony to you shall be my gift. Your discipline transforms… becomes my strength, For is there glee where pleasure is not earned? My patience I shall feed and hope at length, That I may yet be granted what I’ve yearned, For now, I’ll be here waiting… on my knees, Dear master, I am yours; do what you please. - Scott Alexander McKenzie  Is it not the sun, I say, rebounding,
Casting light and warmth upon my face, As panes of glass do shine with light confounding, Mine eyes which seek thy preferential grace? Or could this be that colored crystal wall, Whence benefice of God is filtered through, To children reading blessings of Saint Paul, And hand clasped men who pray in yonder pew? In thine angelic eyes, my dear, I see, That glow I beg my passion to console, With thanks to Him who grants me this decree: They shall provide a window to thy soul. My love, upon this path, may we begin? Please lead me to thy bounteous heart within. - Scott Alexander McKenzie  Sibilant serpents silently slither,
Among these pastures once fertile and green, Causing this fair grass to writhe and wither, Yet, to amnesic sheep, remain unseen, While, from darkened forest, yellow eyes wait, As shadows run from setting sun, they pause, Tho, when lunette glow befalls, beasts mutate, And flesh shall succumb to bloodthirsty jaws, O woe! Horrific scenes remain unseen, For early morning rain does wash the brain, And blood from blades… concealing grim rapine, Rend'ring hallow: dawn’s illume... again, Alas, this spinning sphere shall ne’er cease, As pol, mogul, and hype shall e'er fleece. - Scott Alexander McKenzie  Be this thy heart tenderly beating?
Into mine ear reposed upon thy breast, Drums of love for symphony completing, Sweethearts’ hymn to God might we be blest, Be this thy hand upon my cheek, my dear? Thy fingers ‘twixt my hair you gently stroke, In hopes bold Aphrodite would appear, And once again fresh ardor she’ll evoke, Be this sweet song of passion’s cries I hear? What leaves thy lips so moist while pressed to mine. Like crashing waves that wash away the fear, Revealing trove of jewels that shine divine? Be this thy soul before me warmly gleaming, Or be this slumber’s trance, and am I dreaming? - Scott Alexander McKenzie |
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To my muse... thank you.
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© 2021 Scott Alexander McKenzie
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