Here are some various poets.

Almost out of the sky

Almost out of the sky, half of the moon.
Anchors between two mountains.
Turning, wandering night,
The digger of eyes.
Lets see how many stars are smashed in the pool.

It makes a cross of mourning
Between my eyes, and runs away.
Forge of blue metals, nights of stilled combats.
My heart revolves like a crazy wheel.
Girl who have come from so far,
been brought from so far.
Sometimes your glance flashes out under the sky.
Rumbling storm, cyclone of fury.
You cross above my heart without stopping.
Wind from the tomb carries off,
Wrecks, scatters your sleepy root.

The big trees on the other side of her,
But you, cloudless girl, question of smoke,
Corn tassle.
You were what the wind was making,
With illuminated leaves.
Behind the nocturnal mountains.
White lily of conflagration.
Ah I say nothing.
You were made of everything.

Longing that sliced my breast into peices.
It is time to take another road.
On which she does not smile.
Storm that buried the bells,
Muddy swirl of toments,
Why touch her now, why make her sad?

Oh to follow the road that leads away-
From everything.
Without anguish, death, winter,
Waiting along it.
With their eyes open through the dew.

-Pablo Neruda

The Sinner

They whispered as she passed
Gave knowing looks
That hinted vastly more than
What was said.
Inferring that her past held
Darkest nooks.
Her reputation was tattered
And shred.
And yet she walked among them-
Calm and serene.
Like one who from deep suffering
Had found an inner peace.
A staff on which to lean.
It seemed as if she trod-
On holy ground.
-Margaret E. Brunner

Should You Go First

Should you go first and I remain
   To walk the road alone,
I'll love in memory garden, dear,
   With happy days we've known.
In spring i'll watch for roses red,
   When fades the lilac blue.
In early fall when brown leaves fall
   I'll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain,
   For battles to be fought,
Each thing you'd touched along the way
   Would be a hollowed spot.
I'll hear your voice, I'll see your smile
   Though blindly I may grope, The memory of your helping hand,
   Will buoy me on with hope.
Should you go first and I remain,
   To finish with the scroll,
No length'ning shadows shall creep in
   To make this life seem droll.
We've known so much of happiness.
   We've hjad our cup of joy.
And memory is one gift of god,
   That death cannot destroy.
Should you go girst and I remain,
   One thing i'd have you do,
Walk slowly down that long, lone path
   For soon I'd follow you.
I want to know each step you take
   That I may walk the same,
For someone down that lonely road,
You'll hear me call your name!

Albert Rosewell

A song by TooL
what was it like to see
The face of your own stability
Suddenly look away
Leaving you with the dead and hopeless

Eleven and she was gone
Eleven is when we waved goodbye
Eleven is standing still
Waiting for me to free him...
By coming home.

Moving me with a sound
Openeing me within a gesture
Drawing me down and in
Showing me where it all began

It took so long to realize,
that you hold the light,
Thats been leading me back home.

Under a dead Ohio sky
Eleven had been and will be waiting
Defending his light
And wondering...
Where the hell have I been?
Sleeping, lost and numb
So glad that I have found you
I am wide awake and heading

Hold you light,
Lead me through each gentle step, by step,
By inch by loaded memory

I'll move to heal
As soon as pain allows
So we can reunite
And both move on together.

Hold your light
Lead me through each gentle step by step
By inch by loaded memory.
'Till one and one are one,
so glow, child, glow,

I am heading back home.
   --Maynard James Keenan-TOOL

An emptyness beckoning
From within the depths of my heart
The quiet crying of this enchanted forest at night.
The shadoww of myself from which I bleed to depart.
Salvation still but yet another step out of my sight.
The earth is my garden, In which I have no-one to share
Tasting the breeze, the colors soften
As im running my hand through her hair.
If her heart shares in this hollow,
May my love mend the tune.
Following the call of my goddess.
I search blindly by the light of the moon
   -Conan Preston Childers

Time and Eternity
On this strom the rainbow rose,
On this late morn the sun;
The clouds like listless elephants,
Horizons straggled down

The birds rose smiling in their nests,
The gales were indeed done;
Alas! How heedless were the eyes
On whom the summer shown!

The quite nonchalance of death,
No daybreak can bestir;
The slow archangels syllables
Must awaken her.
   -Emily Dickinson

The Whole Duty of a Poem
A poem should be, as our best ever are,
Golden of heart like a rose or a star.

A poem should be like the brook that
You hear sing down the mountain side-
So lovely and clear.

Yet in its music a poem should hold,
That which is felt
But may never be told.
   -Arthur Gutterman

I want to show you
The maple leaves growing.
I want to be there
And watch
Your eyes wake
As the time cleaves
And you can see through it;
Two winged seeds...
The young leaves

I want to hear you
Speak for hours about
The world beiginning
About dust pollen
And times insane ashes.
Bloodroots and promises.

I won't be visible
If you prefer.
I can avoid
Presences and words.
I can walk in shades
That don't reflect color.
I can be a person
Of no body or mind.
We can meet in solitude.
You don't even have to remember.
   -Marylin Butler

Who Does Not Love Poetry
Who does not love true poetry;
He lacks a bosom friend.
   To walk with him,
   And talk with him,
And all his steps attend;

Who does not love true poetry;
It's rythmic throb and swing,
   The treat of it,
   The sweet of it,
Along the paths of spring;

It's joyous lilting melody;
In every passing breeze,
   The deep of it,
   The sweep of it,
Through hours of toil or tease;

It's grandeur and sublimity;
It's majesty and might,
   The feel of it,
   The peal of it,
Through all the lonely night;

It's tenderness and soothing touch;
Like balm on evening air,
    That feelingly,
   That healingly,
Cures all the hurts of care;

WHo does not love true poetry;
Of sea and sky and sod,
   The height of it,
   The might of it,
He has not known his god.

   -Henry Clay Hall