Foreword

A Taste Of Paradise is a poetry manuscript modified from a poetry chapbook I wrote under the guidance of Dr. Ricardo Sanchez.

- Stephen W. Cote, July, 1995


A Taste Of Paradise

A collection of poetry by Stephen W. Cote



The Laces

Baby Blue

From every street corner of the unknown cities
Locked into the eyes of atrocities
That we have committed after our baptisms
Are the baby blue skies of our sins

The Blue Of Our Lives (part i)

Those tears you cried
Each aching in your eyes
Stinging as they cascaded down your cheek
Spell out your silent thoughts
And hidden feelings
The quiet sigh you uttered
As you fell from his arms
Leaving behind the one prayer answered
Shattered upon the ground
As you wept over each blade in pain



The Blue Of Our Lives (part ii)

A slap in the face
     those words
Hurting and burning
     like a healing friend
We open our eyes
     we bleed and we sigh
Rejected by parents and friends
     we live alone until we die

Without a single memory to surpass us


Baby Blue (part ii)

Simply answered, they are carnal sins
Ones we project into a free world and begin
To craft a certain exotic disease of simplicity
For in the lack of desire
We left our sins alone as heaven rose higher
And it was all so much further away from you


Baby Lace

Baby astral lace -
Did you know
It was all beyond mother's embrace?
Why did they always say
You would be
The golden child they meant to be me?
Now you are stealing
The hope from their eyes
And everything they treasured of their feelings
You could raise
Friendship from ash
And set our sky ablaze
The rain fell from the snow
And it took the purity
From the sadness you let us all know


Barons

Measured remorse and indignity
Fell as flachettes, leaving behind days
Of a war's insignificant glory
As the fallen's kin knee the ground
     - they pray
Birds, predators of a place
The rest can only hope to dream for
Knots and is tied up in it's vain lace
Now, today locked behind the rich man's door
Fears stowed in cargo holds
Your fingers freeze, itching to release the bomb
Watching humanity, wax works 
Melting into the mold
Now beneath the lace
The lives are gone
And no one sings the song




Copyright 1995, Stephen W. Cote and The Writer's Gallery.
Comments
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Last Updated: 8/11/95