Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2014 · 382
Loss of What We Knew
Birdsong Aug 2014
Where has that time gone;
Where we loved, and were loved.

When we fought for what we believed;
When we honored what we said.

My how the time has flown,
And we are all now left alone.

To think and trust,
That the ones we love are gone.

To trust that we are finally dead.
Dead to the world around us.

But, sadly, we find that we are more touched
More damaged,
Than we ever wanted to be
Jul 2014 · 611
Paradise
Birdsong Jul 2014
As I look down on these lands.
I see the sadness in your eyes
And I know you fear that we will not meet again.

You see me gone forever,
But you need to know
That my love for you will never cease.
Do not think I am gone.
For I love you to much,
with all my heart.

So do not look at my final sunset in fear.
I will come back,
With words of hope.

Do not follow in my footprints,
Do not cry.
Do not worry while I am gone.

I will see you again,
And when the time comes.
That I come back to you,

Please...
Follow me to Paradise
The loss of a friend is a hard time, indeed. I can only hope that these words can bring you solace.
Jul 2014 · 458
Song of Hope
Birdsong Jul 2014
I sang to her a song of Hope.
I sang to her a song.

For her I wept a lovely note;
A lovely note it was

To her I cried this lovely note.
Leaving my heart in dispair.
Jul 2014 · 505
The Gallant of Heart
Birdsong Jul 2014
Long gone are the days of old;
where stories are filled with courage and love.
It all appeared so simple.

Though, what was it really like;
The knight, the maiden, and their love?

Was there terror in that love?
Knowing he was the object to many a woman's desire,
And she to a man's.
Knowing he could be called to war,
And she to labor
Knowing that all could be lost,
Life
Love

Who would know?
Who would travel through time to steal their hearts?

To prove that even the most noble of love can be stolen by those fickle of heart.
Though I'm just beginning my life of poetry , and may not be the most well written piece. I believe that last line makes the whole of the poem.

— The End —