Michael Knell, Author of Adventure Stories, Thrillers, Horror, Occult, and Fantasy Books.


An Unspoken Love
An Unspoken Love . . .

My first love? Yes.

My first experience? No.
The love of my life?

Do you really want to know?

Fifty years have gone their way,

Since it was we parted.
And not a day of them went by,

But I was brokenhearted.

I've had many lovers in that time,

And they were good and bad.
But none did stay to last the course,

For I was always sad.

In their eyes I'd search for him,

And in their fond embrace.
It was unfair of me I know,

This quest for that heart-race.

Only he had that effect on me,

He'd lift my soul on high.
I still remember every time,

And then I start to cry.

Why was life so cruel to us,

With that brave new start?
Neither of us wanted it,

It ripped our love apart.

A secret love, as times demanded,

One so misunderstood.
Tender, young and beautiful,

And everything that's good.


Too young was I to stay behind,

Too young was he to follow.
Promises to write fell through,

And that's a case for sorrow.

As each year passes, more and more,

I yearn to see his smile.
Just once more, for old time's sake,

To hold him for a while.

Is he still alive, I ask?

Has life been good to him?
I hope it has, I really do,

Wealthy, fit and trim.

I have a million words for love,

Unending, they go on.
Forbidden then; forbidden now,

All those words are: John.


Michael Knell 2007.





I sit upon this cliff top high,
And stare out across the sea.
A rich red sunset paints the sky,
And ripples back to me.

Are you out there somewhere,
Looking at it too?
Do you still remember me,
As I remember you?

How many times has the sea,
Devoured that sinking sun,
Since last we lovingly caressed,
And melted into one?

We number them in thousands,
If we number any,
And every single one of them,
Has been one too many.

Happy times we shared together,
In times so sparkling sung,
Doing things we would not now,
But those days we were young.

Then had we not to consider,
The cruel work of that orb.
Each time it passes overhead,
Our life it does absorb.

It has not thousands more to do,
Before I am not here.
Will my truelove know I've gone?
Will he shed a tear?


Michael Knell 2007.







I walk along these lonely lanes,
That once I walked with you.
Overhead the boughs hang down,
To drip their Autumn dew.
I come across the five-bar gate,
The one we would sit upon.
Our initials still embedded there,
From happy days bygone.

Across the field the bluebell wood,
Where sometimes we did roam,
I see you there with waiting arms,
To welcome me back home.


Michael Knell 2007.



If everything were a matter of chance,
The mere product of a chaotic whim,
Why would stars need rules to dance?
How could it arrive at the perfect him?


Michael Knell 2007.



What is love, the true love that is more than sexual desires?
The kind of love that lives on even after a loved one expires?
In any great scheme of things it serves no purpose whatsoever.
Being in no way reproductive, its loss evolution should endeavour.
But nothing yet has ever killed love, whenever attacked it gets stronger.
It's been around throughout all time, so who would dare say not longer?

Michael Knell 2007.




It is said that for every person, does just one perfect partner exist.
If any other should fill that space, there will be something missed.
Whenever you find that truelove, the love of your life you are sure,
Nothing must steal it from you, once gone your heart will be sore.
In matters of love always be guided, by the pang of a foolish heart,
For eternity is a long time to suffer, all the pain of a love torn apart.

Michael Knell 2007.