Nero CaroZiv Poems

Remember me as I was back then
As a precious memory of comfort in time of agony and pain
You have turned from me; but I always see
The beautiful maid laughing by a flowering spring tree
...

When I have opened unto you the gates of my inner being
Like a tide stirred by storm you have flowed into me
And I have embraced you in my holding arms like the foamy waves by the sea
So blindly that my innermost recesses of my spirit are full of your seeing
...

They were two beneath a shady tree cover
An old oak tree with blistered trunk and bark failing over
Like the hand of an old man with frail eyes
Yet leaves and fresh sprouts from its boughs shot to the skies
...

Shall I care at all, that in the dreams and in the languor of time
My poetry does not show me and my inner most being and prime
For my poems are fragrance, and not a credible reflection
Words like shadows in disharmony dance and daunt imagination
...

Oh, is it love or the devil in me
How can her eyes so slaying be?
Is it infatuation or the gypsy of my heart
Her image from my eyes would never part
...

I have at times gnawing fears that my days may soon cease to be
Before my quill has exhausted itself in teeming my brain,
Before my high-piled books, in character, and in gallantry
Hold like rich wheat, the full ripened grain;
...

The sea at night is not peaceful, it is utterly uncalm,
The struggling, scudding foaming waves sound the dreadful alarm
The savage winds abrasive, feverishly court the waves
Rejected, they continue upon the surf to sweep into the rocky caves
...

A Midnight summer hour, in the streets of a dormant city
That has not a sound from the warm dusty, pavement
The pale moon has lost her memory in nightly orbit of pity
She is smiling alone in awkward mockery, madness no sentiment
...

Her two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty so stunningly shakes and penetrates me who once was serene;
Straight through my heart the wound is quick sharp and keen.
This is such a rare beauty my eyes never before have seen
...

Shall I ever let my fancy and dream to roam
To bring this rare pleasure and conjure it back home
At touch this pleasure and memory melts
Like bubbles of water when the rain pelts
...