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Samuel W Silva


There is no blood! There is no cross!
The deep ache which our hearts assay
...depression!, lunatic, unreal
...never meets us anyway.
No petals bloom the flower we feel
should we inscribe a lonely song

because the shoddy echoes steal!
because the TV is turned on
whose money jerks our thoughts away,
whose noisy noisy comedy
is smoke and light
and turns the day into a night
and snuffs the honor of regret.

And briefly do we sense the loss
from time to time, like love's ennui
...or just before we go to bed
in smoke lost from a cigarette
that so provokes a senseless tear
from eyes that itch
and smear...with red.


How can I make you love me?
...and how to fill you
with a dream of me!,
unlikely and impossible
and utterly untrue

slowly steer you to the dire
(smoke and steam
profuse upon the fire) inadequacy
as limitless
as stony bare and vile.

No! It could not possibly
be the same for you!
Oh dream and lullaby and light
to which I give my wounded guile

like a thief
who steals you
in the night.

CHARLOTTE'S WEB    ARTVILLA     Â© 2001 Samuel W. Silva

Thank you for your visit to Samuel W Silva. Take the Artvilla tour Bus to surfing for fun:
Modern Artist David Michael Jackson
The Old Tiller, a poem by Charlotte Mair
Poverty Poem
A Poem by Summer Breeze, In the shallows Poem
John Emory Michael
Not So Famous Lost Art
Oak tree painting
I Can See It In Your Eyes Poem
~Dead Horse by Elisha Porat
dreaming about home poem
Gallery Five
Blue Thoughts Painting
Why Can't You Be True Poem
Port Royal Bridge Photo Four
Elisha Porat Poem -- Christians
War poem
Sleeping Poem
Divisions of the Lost Poem
Crazy Old Lady Poem
Gallery Fourteen

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