Phoebe and the Wolf

 So long ago — So many years have passed
 Since Phoebe with her beauty, form and grace,
 Walked freely through the darkness that was cast
 Upon the forest dwellers. Dressed in lace
 And finery, each sought her sweet embrace
 And company to wile away the night —
 ’Twas such a pleasure in this somber place.
 She loved them all, and darkness would take flight
When Phoebe smiled. Her heart was true — so shone her light.
 
 Each night the forest nymphs would gather round
 And seat themselves ‘pon anything they may
 Desiring to indulge in sight and sound,
 To listen to her stories — what she’d say,
 Each mesmerized and none would ever stray —
 They’d hang upon each word from tender lips
 Until the creeping rays of breaking day.
 Another in the darkness, sits and sips
Her words to quench his thirst — sweet honeyed nectar drips.
 
 The wolf, he loved young Phoebe with a heart
 That burned with passion — How he wanted her,
 And felt so lonely when she would depart,
 To wait throughout the day and so incur
 The wrath that filled his heart as if it were
 A dagger, cold and sharp, to twist and tear
 With ev’ry aching pulse, thus hate would stir.
 But was it love or lust? He didn’t care —
He only knew, this pain, was more than he could bear.
 
 Then came the night as Phoebe made her way,
 With beauty, form and grace that kissed the night;
 There sate the wolf, who eyed her as his prey
 And bared his teeth, he snarled — she stopped in fright,
 As want dripped from his mouth. He wouldn’t fight
 His primal urge to kill this maiden fair
 And took her in his jaws. Her life — His bite.
 But was it love or lust? He didn’t care —
He only knew, this pain, was more than he could bear.
 
 Her blood ran free as Heaven cried in pain,
 And angels swift descend to hallowed ground.
 The wolf, he backs away from her he’d slain —
 His eyes afire, in silence stood. No sound
 Was uttered as they bathed this beauty crowned,
 To wash away the stain of hate despite
 His love for her? In jealousy he drowned!
 She loved them all, and darkness would take flight
When Phoebe smiled. Her heart was true — so shone her light.
 
 The wolf now walks in dark, but Phoebe shines,
 And nymphs that sat with her, from he now flee,
 For fear that death will come whene’er he pines,
 But unbeknown to him, the light they see —
 The moon so bright, she keeps their company
 For this is Phoebe, Heaven’s sainted maid
 Who looks upon the forest dwellers free.
 The wolf, he realizes — want has paid
A price and bays the waning moon — his love mislaid.
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
9.27

Child of Mine

I wondered if those starry eyes I saw
Were happiness or tears reflecting hope;
‘Tis strange, I’d never seen this child before,
Her eyes, her face; emotions fail to cope
With this, this gorgeous child with ample scope
To prove her love, but love is not returned
By one who should know better; love is spurned.
 
Her eyes, they search the answer to her why
And anger strikes, within my heart to grow;
Her wanting, searching heart, that bitter sigh
Of love discarded, tears begin to flow
Down freckled cheeks, their hurt pounds blow by blow,
This little child defeated, can she rise
Above the pain I see through teary eyes.
 
Without an answer coming, lost to he
Who stands before this treasure, hair of gold
And sorrowed eyes of blue that turn to me
Acknowledging my presence, eyes that hold
My heart and knowing without being told.
I smile, she smiles, perhaps our hearts align,
To heal her pain, I wish this child was mine.
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2015
10.29

Life’s Posey

If Life should ever close her knowing eyes;
 Would Death erase her codicil of light?
 Could Life give o’r to Death in silent cries
 Of helplessness — as day becomes the night?
Oft times there runs a melancholic blight
 To sap the vigor of a pleasant day —
 What’s in a name? To know by any hight
 These many wretched thoughts that find their way.
Yet in the dark recesses — Life’s bouquet?
 A nosegay gathered from our simple past,
 Reminds us in our age, the need to play:
 To live, enjoy; what’s now can never last.
Will you, this tiny posy’s scent adore?
 Or seek the stench of false blooms evermore.
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2017
8.6

Color Me

O’r craggy cliffs where edges fall away,
 To feel the earth give way neath running feet,
See colors fade from Nature’s mean display,
 As tears of sunset fall to day deplete
And mingle with unfeeling pallid greys
 Before the dark of night, horizons meet.
The spirit yaws to hear a sorrowed call,
But mindful of propensity to fall.

The rainbow colors painted in the skies,
 Refracting feelings of those bygone years
To paint a person’s soul within their eyes
 Reflecting personality through fears
And tempt to drown the pain and hurtful lies,
 That hope returns and suffering disappears.
These colors run to imitate the white
Of stars that grace the velvet skies at night.

The canvas of the mind with colors blurred,
 As brushes, color-tipped with empathy,
Move in a way to illustrate preferred
 And pleasing notions of a memory,
That contemplates the meaning once inferred
 As truth. A shallow hint of destiny.
The palette bright with colors seldom used,
The wonder, why the waste; somewhat bemused.

The drop that falls, a teary colored splash,
 That runs the length of jagged edges cruel,
Through brambles with their thorns that pull and slash
 Like hands that try to snatch the artist’s tool
In anger as emotions kick and thrash
 Gainst all that laughs and mocks us as the fool.
The footprints like the brush can firmly place
A gift of color or in dark, displace.

But listen, in the distance is a voice
 That knows your name and tries to call to you
In strong but sweetened tones; You have a choice!
 And somehow it’s the voice you always knew
That warms the heart, a yearning to rejoice
 And change directions, paths you would pursue.
We lack the strength and courage to belong,
Until the one who’s right has come along.

To fall and then be caught so never strike,
 Or feel the pain of loneliness again,
To be with one and never sense dislike
 For who you are and never feel the drain
Of life’s cruel burdens, something quite unlike
 The way you’ve felt for years or dared complain.
In colors bright, your masterpiece complete
And never fear the edge beneath your feet.
 
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
2.7

Sadness

The sadness in a verse — the written line
 That falters in its message. Words mean naught —
To recollect the feeling (such as mine),
 Regardless of the lessons we’ve been taught —
 This world is left to us, between worlds caught.
 A remedy? There never was a cure,
 Perhaps we all in some way must endure
This sense of suffering dark and lonely nights
 To think of why; in some way reassure
Our self that all is well as sorrow writes.

When heartbeats sing a soft but saddened song,
 A melody that overwhelms the fire —
Surcease of sorrow! How could this be wrong
 When wanton thoughts can douse a soul’s desire,
 Yet truth will make us out to be the liar.
 Desire, a wish? Is’t lust? An aching heart —
 Lord tell us! How it is, these feelings start,
When all we want; to find that special one:
 O’ just the thought, to never be apart
Will never compensate — ’tis better none!

The wretched scratch of inkless pen on page,
 It laughs, it jeers; so hideous is its sound —
Like claws that gouge to stir a lover’s rage
 And o’r and o’r again, cruel heartbeats pound
 Until all hope is lost, for hope has drowned.
 It drowns with screams of torment; raging fires,
 Cursed flames that lick until the want expires —
The pounding! Breathless! Pounding — How it wells!
 And nothing stops the sound of fiendish choirs
That bound their dirge to where our loving dwells!

But sadness is a song too often sung,
 To different tunes, the words are just the same.
In verses failed, defeated, heads are hung
 And all that’s left, is only in the name
 Of some poor sod who tried to play the game.
 This night — a night so dark, it all seems lost —
 We give our all, regardless of the cost,
Our dwindling flame — extinguish it. You might
 Pretend, but in the fiercest tempest tossed:
A single ray can pierce the dark of night.
 
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2017
8.14

Little Boy

 On bended knee, though battle-marred, looks down –
 Upon the one he swore till death defend.
 His blood-stained hands have failed him and the frown
 Of Why? Confusion o’r his tiny friend,
 Whose fading heart; this dirge to drum. His end
Has come, but unexpected – ill prepared
For what had lain ahead. Their peril shared.

 For many years, the guardian had fought
 In ev’ry battle, kept the boy behind
 And always thought his own life was but naught,
 The boy was more important than his kind –
 He thought him safe. His present state of mind
Now questions every move he made for fear
Of losing him. Reality is here.

 The blood-soaked earth of mem’ry’s battle field,
 Where bravèry once sought the holy grail,
 Emblazoned words, his breast-plate ‘Never Yield’
 Together, they would conquer and assail,
 Protected by the strength of wrought chain mail.
The guardian, before the boy would stride,
And from his eyes, the slaughter he would hide.

 This day, however, Future made its stand –
 The boy would run to show that he could too,
 Protect himself from harm, but Fate’s cruel hand
 Dropped down – the signal. Then the arrows flew …
 And pierced the boy; he fell as Fate withdrew.
With helpless eyes, afraid, looks up. He cries.
His heartbeat slows – It stops … little boy dies.

 From bended knee he rises, draws his sword,
 Removes his breast-plate; thoughts of ‘Never Yield’
 Meant nothing any more. This noble lord
 Had failed, and life no more to him appealed
 He too would die upon this bloodied field.
He looks to heaven – Curse the tears that start –
And falls. His sword has pierced his gallant heart.
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
7.18

Nature’s Prelude

The freshness of the breeze is slowly drawn
Into the lungs of mountain tops of green —
Each sprinkled with the slightest tinge of pale
And notifying all the hint of snow.
Tall trees bowed solemnly acknowledging
A greater presence – that of changing times;
Then aging Autumn flees and hides herself
As wispy souls dance high in azure skies.

Below, the lake of waters deep and calm,
Its absolution washes sin away
With gentle breaths that skip along the breaks,
And breathe the lust of life across the lands
That speak in silence, hide from all the world —
Their aqueous brow — frolicking wavelets
That kiss benevolent shores nurturing
And contented in Nature’s pulse of life.

The broke reflection of the hornèd moon
Resists the harmonics of ageless seas
And Phoebus smiles content to be alone
Among the gaping eyes of heaven’s orb.
As slowly as the night gives way to morn,
Damp nips the heel of all who, now rising,
To view the splendor of the creeping sun,
As slowly, rays stretch out and cleanse the skies.

Another morn of beauty doth awake —
The heaving heart beats in Nature’s bosom
Sustains a love, existence for all life
And bids nocturnal souls, a night — good day.
Like white candles extinguished, one by one,
All stars, suns for the many other worlds,
Wink and vanish in the morn’s cool light
Having lived at another time, now past.

Coy zephyrs play among the leaves, rustling
With whispers of games to play — hide and seek.
Scrambling, to a secret place — excited,
Impatient — only to laugh and scurry.
Echoes of _Marco!_ call in the distance —
Shy voices answer; squeals of youth waking
A Mother’s happiness envelops all:
Her morning kiss, _Go play_ — and off they run.

 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
11.25