Poetry by Kevan Duer of Mount Ephraim, New Jersey The Society November 9, 2012 Poetry A Cold Truth If Love can move mountains I could move the Earth My Heart as a fountain We would never thirst If your Heart were the Sun I’d never be cold Away, I would not run With you I’d grow old Alas, it’s not the case I’ll accept the sign A cold truth I must face Your Heart is not mine Insane My heart has been trampled Ripped out of my chest My suffering ample Mind never at rest Fell in love like a fool Made my hopeless plea Unraveled from my spool Need to be set free Avoid falling in love It will give you pain If near, give it a shove It makes you insane The Peak The Sun in the sky That lights the path Gives an urge to fly Away from wrath To divest the pain The Sun will shine And dry up the rain This end I pine More pleasant weather Is what I seek Light as a feather Climbing the peak A Girl When I was younger I had known a girl, With a lovely heart radiating light, I loved her, but alas, she loved a churl. More beautifully shaped than any pearl, To gaze at her made my darkest day bright, When I was younger I had known a girl. In her presence my stomach was a swirl, To all other women I’d lose my sight, I loved her, but alas, she loved a churl. Her lovely hair with fingers she would twirl, I would gladly watch her do it all night, When I was younger I had known a girl. A girl so grand is as rare as a burl, Who soars high and graceful just as a kite, I loved her, but alas, she loved a churl. Thinking of her makes mind a windless whirl, Remembering how she had loved that blight, When I was younger I had known a girl, I loved her, but alas, she loved a churl. Kevan Duer is a stagehand/laborer residing in a New Jersey suburb outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Inspired by numerous poets and artists, such as Emily Dickinson and T.S. Eliot, he writes as an extension of himself and the world around him. These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition. Related Post ‘Letter to England: For Tommy Robinson’ by Josep... I. But yesterday, your noble fathers bled Upon the fields of France, where countless dead Had found among the vines their final rest, To gild with... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.