Old Poetry

Reprint of some old poems.

Antics of a Half-Elf

Through the woods he will walk and dance;
Others think he is in a trance.
Not quite human and not quite elf;
All the time though, he is himself.

Magic beneath the bright, full moon;
Into the Earth he 'scribes his rune.
Humming, singing, softly speaking;
Pranks and mischief he is wreaking.

An fair elf-maid he does espy --
A roguish gleam comes to his eye.
She suspects nothing is amiss --
'Til from her lips he steals a kiss!

He flies so quickly from the place;
The maiden too, with speed and grace.
Through ancient trees and moonbeams, bright
The elf-maid pursued him in his flight.

Whether she was fast or he was slow
The truth is that we'll never know.
She caught him though, of that we're sure
And faced him with a wrath so pure.

Her eyes were fire, her arms were steel.
Her burning anger he did feel.
His eyes flamed too, but with desire.
Soft grew her touch and warm her fire.

Light fingers on his face caressed;
Warm lips on his she softly pressed.
A sweeter kiss than the one he stole;
Given freely; so full and whole.

Now when the moon is full and bright
There dance two 'neath the trees at night.
The half-elf rogue without a care
And elven maid so pure and fair.

c.1989 --F. Williams



Change

All is lost and nothing gained.
Cannot even feel the pain.
Cannot love and cannot hate.
Nothing left but just to wait.

It seems there's nothing that isn't lost
and it's our hearts that pay the cost.
Choices that aren't really there.
Either way it won't seem fair.

Choose to work away your life;
lose your daughter and your wife.
Give all you can and do your best.
You'll never get a chance to rest.

Now there's nothing left to give.
Cannot work and cannot live.
I'm not who I used to be;
the way back I cannot see.

Friends who seem to care too much
for one too numb to feel the touch.
Nothing ever stays the same.
You lose your soul, you change your name.

All that's left is to survive.
Find a reason to stay alive.
Change will come, the wheel will turn
Will hearts rekindle? Passion burn?

c.2002 --F. Williams