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Gold Digger
poetry [ ]

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by [laplanda ]

2010-10-16  |     | 

The trees are dancing at my eyes of rum,
My lofty moon of fears is being fed.
Beside this oak my gold should be buried ;
Where’s this treasure, waiting for me to come?


Oh! no! again, a misunderstood trap,
Again, the foul promise a hook provides!
My love, their lies were but a lethal map,
As wrecked is my heart, as long you hide.
My poor treasure, how will you make me prince?
Where must you be, among this lost province?


My tears are but a scope, my pain, a guide,
It’s through this loss our paths will not divide :
Hope is a fool whose strength abides
With rushing zeal as ache arises.
Here many oaks are looking similar,
Perhaps your couch is resting not so far.

My sweet! With thee my hands will soon be bound!
I crave and starve as most frenzied a hound!
Before sunrise my hands shall hold thy skin,
Caress thy frame with lust and sin.

(dreaming pause)-(disillusion)

I’ll never see thy dawn, uncharted gold ;
Thou shalt remain, hence fade, a tale of old.
Ye could be here or there, or not exist,
I can’t notice thee through the fog and mist.
Our meeting here may be too late to be,
Then love would just become a dreamt folly.

Then how could last what never dared begin?
How would I spend what has never proceed’d?
Thou art my aim, no need of filthy djinn,
I know a lamp’s always of evil deed.

My golden love, why can’t you show therein?
And why feigning thin air if thou art real?
Always, or once, has same for due a pain :
The hope turned false, a loss, a lured appeal.

Your gripping warmth, your seizing smile, to dust!
Thy dazzling spark, thy scuffled chime, to rust!
And shared is solitude, equal in part,
A link unveiled, eternal a depart.

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