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Best Poems From
ROBERT L. BIXLER III
(February 14,1985)
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17.
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Thy Loving Sacrifice
Lyrical verse of a cold harmony,
Follow the calling to thy very knee.
When thee are called from the grave,
It will be’th thyself who invokes the knave.
Humbly thee bow before thy anti-savior,
But does’t thee know thy price of servitude?
For love of thy night creature repent forever.
As I have love’th thee most
I will bring’th forth thy very ghost.
Thy death cannot separate our one,
Not before our loving-lust is done.
Thy angelic-purity begraces thy
Dark-passionate soul to raise above
The ashes of thy life, in which I lie.
Thee was the gilded saint
That prayed for thine un-taint.
But, the powers that be’th, prevent
A lusting-love like ours to vent.
For the world shouldn’t know
Of such dark redemption in love.
As with sun to night, our love must go.
As the golden truth peaks over the horizon
I am forced to flee the light of the Son.
But after thee has been burnt to ground,
In darkness hour, I will’eth bring your sound
Back to the respited night, lusting-love now heals.
I lie’th in thy ashes, and am engulfed in love
Thy ashes swirl, and surround, creating thine safe seals.
Thy loving sacrifice was the heavenly fix
For thy night creature to arise, sunlight phoenix.
Once I was but ashes to the divine light
And lusting-love detest in the cold, dark night.
But now, with love’s seals, I walk’th streets
Without fear of the light, for thy love reformed.
Day and night, I love as thy heart no longer beats.
Robert L. Bixler III
Read more: lust poems, dark poems, night poems, son poems, light poems, truth poems, fear poems, love poems, death poems, sun poems, world poems
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18.
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A Rose
My seed has been sown
This life is now my own
To grow, love and die
Like the rose reaching for the sky.
Just as the rose blossoms red,
To show its heart for what lies ahead,
So shall I place my heart on my sleeve
For you to see before you leave.
As the rose needs the sun
To give its radiant color a reason
For invoking the most arduous lovers
Into the wonders of love, such endeavors.
So do I need your presence
To solidify my very essence.
For without the sun,
The rose will grow for none.
Its beauty fades and withers away
On such a sad, cold winter's day.
Robert L. Bixler III
Read more: rose poems, winter poems, sad poems, sun poems, beauty poems, red poems, sky poems, heart poems, love poems
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19.
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Age of Jester
Trapped in Newtonian logic,
I was lost in a sea of rationale.
Blinded in encompassing physique,
Entranced in jesting femme fatale.
With unbending scientific step,
I test the solid state standard
As she tests my misstep,
Hopeless romanticism surrendered.
In technical jargonic babble,
I explain away my ability to love.
With a soft smile, seductive dabble,
She breaks the analytic latex glove.
Steady hands, lab proficient,
Align the reasoned pieces’ fold.
With luscious lip moment
Dreamt, my hands shake cold.
Her soft alluring eyes gravitate
My every thought closer to the infinite.
Lost in her eyes, I can fully relate
With iron’s attraction to the magnet.
As I derived Jester’s true intention,
I had no desire to break orbit,
To leave my satellite position
And forfeit my illy flawed gambit.
Drawn to an engulfing black whole,
Like light itself, I was incapable of escaping her.
Aware of the destination of this wormhole,
I would, again, live in the Age of Jester.
Robert L. Bixler III
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20.
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Almond Joy
Three times the sun awoke in the east,
Only to lazily sink to its bed in the west,
Before I was free of commanded action;
Required to lay hot rocks down the range.
Freedom was the cushioned couch, in which I lay,
As strip myself of war’s emblem, stained through.
Resting in my mind’s pocket was a hidden gem;
The one joy from this trial of futility and error.
A diamond in the rough, an unexpected surprise,
Was this beautiful creation which stole my dreams.
From a collection of the bland and tasteless collect,
She stole my breath with a soft, natural beauty.
The second I saw her, I knew all was for not.
If I tasted her that moment, my lips on her,
I would have been no better than the rushing fool;
But, oh, was the temptation ever driving!
I knew such a rarity, such a delicacy as her,
Should be held on to and anticipated agonizingly.
For such patience and virtue, coupled with chivalry,
Would bring out the sweetest tastes of her addiction.
How I longed to run my fingers along her sides;
To truly know her every sensual curve,
But a Hopeless Romantic fool, as I was,
Must delay his desire to pay homage to such perfection.
It was from the militant idiocracies, and inept leadership,
That I had such a chance to stumble upon her radiance.
From the banal rations provided, she was heaven sent;
A sweetened treat for the passionately addicted.
As my hopes were at their lowest, she revived every one
And set-afire my still-beating heart with gratitude and compassion.
This sweet Almond Joy, in her gorgeous packaging, was my angel.
Her presence became my saving grace, shining light upon stupidity.
Having placed her safely in my pocket, away from the tainted
Retardation of the illy planned happenstance that gave me her,
She had felt my warmth and compassion and melted, I prayed.
Yet as I lay upon the couch, wanting to un-wrap her entirely,
I hesitated at the start, feeling her cold hardness underneath.
Surely she felt the same for me as I did her eloquence?
Where else could such creamy, coconut skin be blended
With richness of silky brown, lightly highlighted, covering?
Needless to say, this Sailor’s heart was sunken in despair.
Having just barely grazed my lips upon hers, I was captivated.
Yet, I knew that virtue and time could warm her to me.
So, I placed her down to rest and left her quietly.
My dreams, desires and wildest fantasies became hers
To construct, inspire and resurrect at her ever beckoning will.
As I waited for her call for return, my inner demons gnawed
And scratched at my self-confidence, self-image, self-worth.
Could a man like me every really possess such beauty,
Or is it her alluring, seductions that possess me?
I cannot forget her soft presence and seductive ways.
So, I slowly go insane awaiting my Almond Joy’s call.
Robert L. Bixler III
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