The Final Words of Sir Thomas Love

And now I sit amongst these piers
And look upon my yesteryears
And dream of minutes that I’ve held-
Those wilted wastes of longing hell…

No other hand shall my touch grace…
As no more grace shall touch my own…
For me the sun has shined its rays
And sent its beauty home…

And twilight beams upon my face
in one last flash before it’s gone,
as here I lie in dying state
for love of love’s last throngs…

The ocean’s tide
recedes, resigned
To dash into the night,
and sweeter dreams replace the trees
that sway with snow-flushed pride

till images of silver rings
disgrace my broken face,
and kisses in the park I walked
resume their haunting chase.


Can time forget the things I’ve seen
and lay those demons down?
Can people ever be the same
to hearts as thrashed about?

Can perfection ever ring again
when moments fleet so dear,
and leave the wrongs of life unchanged
to fester through the years?



I pray to dear Saint Michael,
while Saint George holds his place;
a daunting, grim reminder,
of holes born out of fate…




whippoorwills and crows fly low,
a crown of thorns set high,
nailed at hands and feet to bleed-
for sins agape tied;
forlorn for beauty’s sake,
and crucified by jealous masks
for want of sleepy words I spoke,
before my waking gasp…



“This isn’t what it seems,”
can seem a many things…
…and I have known them all,
with chilling, bitter taste…

A powder blanket strewn around me;
my tender hands despise my eyes-
I wear my skin too small and scrawny
to simply crawl inside;
and everyday I die…

and everyday I die.

And now I sit upon this pier,
And look upon my yesteryears
-and dream of silence yet to come
as lonely waters weave a shroud

that washes gently across my chest
till darkness overcomes me,
and I rest.

Andrew Venegas
San Jose
SJSU
poetry