This poem was a finalist in the 2007 Poetlaureate contest, and has been published in the edition of the same name.
The Wayward Soul.
Onward pulses th' ocean tide,
In it, the wayward soul resides.
Kept within infinity's cube,
Without escape, nor aptitude.
Longing are the rivers deep,
Gorged with teardrops of thier sleep
--invaders simply passing by,
Who rest on banks with ivy lines.
No one knows the sweet desire
Felt in my breast, this ancient fire.
Quickly quenched in just an hour,
Was it love? Or it, a liar?
Tempt me, master, with your strength.
I'm yours alone, to love or hate.
You held me tightly since first light.
And hold my heart still \'till my night.
"Don't look," you say, "in ocean tides,
"I am not there. I did not die."
Your love, your hate, inside me thrive.
Within my soul, you are alive.
--K. Presson 01/27/06