SENTINEL POETRY

ONLINE MAGAZINE MONTHLY     ISSUE #10 SEPTEMBER 2003     ISSN 1479-425X

NICHOLAS COCKAYNE    THREE POEMS

The Glorious Fall

Golden brown leaves lie in heaped piles now,
When once they graced the cedar bough.
The path is covered in umber falls
As cedars line it, pillars in ancient halls.
The wind scatters hapless leaves across the path
And blows cold ashes from the empty hearth.

Muzzles blaze and machine guns rattle.

A forlorn farewell on a platform bare,
As the wind danced through your shining hair.
Rifle slung upon your shoulder,
You bravely went, the ranks to bolster.
In a cacophony of noise and steam, away
Your eyes told more than words could say.

Explosions pound the earth and still you charged.

Upon the path alone I now stand
And long for the touch of your hand.
Half imagined, purposefully you stride
Towards me through the Autumnal tide,
But then the merciless wind chillingly calls, and
Your memory is blown away among the leaves that fall.


A Lost Poem

Your kisses taste of suicide.
A sweet tang upon your lips, hides
The burning of the skies.  Each
Drink takes you one step further.
Each mouthful a small wave,
Each sip a little goodbye.
I sit and watch you.  This
Poem should be yours, but you no
Longer write.

Your kisses taste of suicide.
Each calming lungful of fire
Makes you glow.
Maul yourself on the inside, the
Secretive seas I know you hide.
I can watch your eyes and only see
Yourself reflected in mine.

Your kisses tasted of suicide.
In your hand I leave this page,
Torn but perfect.  This is your poem,
The poem you would have written.
The song of your life you should have
Sung.  A lost tale that wanted to be
Heard.
Clasped in your cold hand it is safe.
Your lost poem.

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