The Memory
I had thought to capture—the moment,
however fragile or fleeting,
and feel it move between the palms of my hands.
Soft and silent, like a moth
with wings fluttering–yet frightened
as it searches for light in the darkness of my skin
Charles Coakley Simpson
Feathers
When I hear the sound
of sadness. And the light is broken
by the silence. Of the trees.
I know all the birds have flown Away.
Their wings like words whispering
Your name
Charles Coakley Simpson
After the Rain
When once tears did fall–
that we were embraced by the joy of intimacy,
and yet the deluge which befalls us now
is not for the want we have of holding each other still,
but that we never held each other
Enough
Charles Coakley Simpson
Twilight
The bridge between
dusk and dawn
is merely the distance
transversed
from my lips to yours
Charles Coakley Simpson
Thistles
Might the thorn
be as fragrant as the flower,
that the paradox of love is in the irony of its pain.
Thus I am drawn into a garden of thistles
where even the rose is entangled within its vine
that I cannot deny my passion
for beauty
Charles Coakley Simpson
Comprehensive
It has been long–I think, since I held you.
And wrapped myself warmly
Within the soft, white blanket of your skin.
Charles Coakley Simpson
Charles
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