I WOULD BOARD THE TITANIC
by Michael Langston
I would have gladly died
in that cold, icy water
for the sake of once knowing
a great love such as that.
I would quite happily be buried
and be love’s willing martyr
just to have looked in those eyes
and in that place once have sat.
I’d feel that freezing coldness
and be interred in miles of sea
to just once escape the aloneness
of a world where there is…
only…me.
DIRECTIONLESS
by Michael Langston
The road that I have traveled,
Though once a busy highway,
Changed from paved to graveled
And is now not even a pathway.
No fellow travelers can here be found,
Through this pathless forest onward,
There is no hope of turning around,
And there is no going forward.
There is only aimless wandering here
Within this endless, pathless forest,
Murky darkness with nothing clear,
Apart from all the farthest.
TO THE PSEUDO-CHRISTIANS
by Michael Langston
You are like a prospector who, searching long and hard, finds what he believes is a priceless gold nugget. But what he has found, upon closer examination, turns out not to be gold at all, but is instead fool’s gold.
2 You are as a man who, dissatisfied with what he owns, sells all his worldly goods for what he believes is a handsome price. But only later, when it is then too late, does he discover that the money he has received is not genuine, but is in fact counterfeit.
3 You are like a traveler who, on his way to the Celestial City, looks for a place to rest from his journey and stops for the night at a wayside inn. But when he is there, he is deceived by the innkeeper into believing that he has reached his destination. And preferring the comfort of the inn to the hardship of the journey, he thus does not continue that journey, and so never reaches the Celestial City.
4 You are as a woman who, without having access to any firsthand knowledge, receives all her information at the end of a long line of gossip. But that information, in passing from one person to another, so becomes distorted. And upon reaching the end such person, it thus is without its original truth.
5 You are as a child who, standing at the window, perceives a tiny insect crawling across the face of the glass. But watching it intently and with his eyes focused sharply upon it, he thus does not see what lies outside that window.
6 You are as a man who, sitting down to dinner, is served what he thinks is a wholesome and savory stew. But along with the potatoes and carrots and gravy, what looks like the beef isn’t really beef at all, but is in reality horse manure.
7 You are like an old man who, after an attack of appendicitis, is straightway taken to the nearest hospital. But rather than surgery to take out the appendix, he is given a drug to take away the pain.
8 You are as a man holding a red-hot poker in one hand and taking an aspirin with the other.
9 You are as sheep mistaking a wolf for the shepherd.
IN REMEMBRANCE OF SARA TEASDALE
by Michael Langston
Though the flame be forgotten
That once burned warm and bright
In the cold, midnight stillness
Of that long-lost winter night,
Though the gray, crumbled ashes
Strewn out across that snow
Were swept away forever…
To where only the wind shall know,
Though the flower be forgotten
That once adorned that spring,
Her thoughts will live forever;
Her angel’s voice still sings.
MY SECRET LOVE
by Michael Langston
Across the floor, not far from me,
Within this dreary factory,
My secret love sits busily
Amidst the noise and drudgery.
So beautiful, so young and fair,
To her, none other can compare;
And trying vainly not to stare,
I watch the back of her long blonde hair:
In all my life I’ve never seen,
In all the world there’s never been
A sight more lovely than this scene:
This long blonde hair of golden sheen.
Passing time will soon erase,
An empty chair will soon replace
All this wealth of untold grace
She brings into this joyless place.
If broken dreams could be made new,
If secret wishes could all come true,
Then I would ask for only two:
To touch her hair…and hold her too.
BACH’S MUSIC
by Michael Langston
an open window
through which
I sometimes see
a fleeting glimpse…
of heaven
and eternity
TO MY UNSEEN LOVE
by Michael Langston
I’ve never looked upon your face;
I do not know your name;
And in some unseen distant place,
I know you will remain
Forever kept apart from me
Across both space and time;
I hope someday these words you’ll see,
By chance that you will find
Within this old and worn-out book
The fact so plain and true:
That all my life in vain I looked…
In vain I searched for you.
I’d sit beneath the moonlit skies
In summer’s warm night air
And dream of looking in your eyes,
Of you beside me there;
And as I walked, in fantasy
I gently held your hand,
But in the moonlight next to me:
No one there did stand;
And if I could, I would have flown
Across all time and space
And left behind my world I’d known…
And you, my love, embrace.
WASTED
by Michael Langston
I fear the ravages of time
Upon the youth that once was mine,
The growing lines across my face,
The failing strength I can’t replace;
But most I fear that I shall be,
Through all of time’s eternity,
A heap of bones lain in the ground
Where grubs and earthworms crawl around,
Whose sojourn in the world above
Was wasted…never finding love.
METAMORPHOSIS
by Michael Langston
Long ago in a forgotten land,
There stretched a beach of whitened sand
Where oft a maiden, young and free,
Would slowly walk beside the sea.
The sea breeze streamed through her long hair,
But no one else was with her there
Save sea gulls ranged in perfect flight
In sunset’s fading, ruddy light.
The mellowed sunlight lit her skin
And warmed her to her heart within
Till in the sea, the sun went down
As sea waves made their crashing sound.
As night approached and she walked back,
She dreamed of what she’d always lacked:
Beneath the shining stars above,
She dreamed of someone she could love.
Now underneath those very stars,
Upon a rock that stood not far,
There sat a man in this dark place
Who wore a frock to hide his face.
His face was marred; his heart was pure;
Much sorrow had he thus endured,
And only one thing he had known:
A life of wandering alone.
He’d watched the maiden in her walk;
To such as her, he dared not talk;
He couldn’t tell her what he felt:
That she had caused his heart to melt.
Atop the moonlit precipice,
He breathed a sigh and made a wish…
Not for himself as others do:
He wished that all her dreams come true.
When morning came and he awaked,
A sight caused his whole form to shake:
From out his clear-blue washing place,
Stared back a perfect, godlike face!
Now in that far-off, long-lost land,
Two lovers stroll the glistening sands…
Clasped together, hand in hand,
Beneath the place a bare rock stands.
LOVE’S PARADOX
by Michael Langston
Tell me how…
that one lone thing
can bring such joy…
then bring such pain.
How can its teardrops
be both two things:
both tears of joy
and tears…of pain?
Truth Makes Us Free 