Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lonely, waiting, watching deep,
Praying as the tempests rise,
Losing hope where shadows creep,
Donโ€™t you leave himโ€” heed his cries.


Alcyone, donโ€™t you stray,
Alcyone, trust his vow.
He longs to whisper, bid you stay,
Yet the tide wonโ€™t let him now.


He loves you true, but he is gone,
The sea demands its toll.
He cannot hold you when the dawn
Fades beyond waters cold.


You turned away, betrayed his faith,
Abandoned love so pure.
Now his fate is the oceanโ€™s claim,
A dream that wonโ€™t endure.


"Let me see Alcyone,"
He prayed beneath the moon.
Yet the sea knew youโ€™d turn away,
And now the waves consume.


He wished to say he loved you still,
Even through the salty spray.
Why could you not just wait until,
He found a way to stay?


He bent upon his weary knee,
A ring within his grasp.
Yet you left him lost at sea,
A vow drowned in the past.


All the sailors found embrace,
As they returned to waiting arms.
But he, forsaken, cast away,
Sank beneath whispers in the dark.


"Let me see Alcyone,"
He begged every night.
He prayed, but you did not believe,
And so beneath the waves, he paid the price.


He loved with faith, his heart was whole,
Yet was your love the same?
Did longing ache for him alone,
Or did you covet but his name?


Your sorrow is the hollow storm,
That stole his final breath.
You cry now, but guilt is born,
You let him drift to death.


Why did you leave, Alcyone?
He never chose the sea.
He parted to build a life for you,
Yet you let him cease to be.


Look upon the wreckage now,
The love you cast aside.
He did this for you, yet fate allowed
His ruin in the tide.


Listen, Alcyone, do not pretend,
You cannot play the part.
We all know it was you, in the end,
The one who stopped his heart.
One breath among ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘Š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”๐‘  ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘Š๐‘Ž๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘›๐‘”.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
I'm not the speaker,
I'm just the repeater.

I'm not the speaker,
I'm just the repeater.

I'm not the speaker,
I'M JUST THE REPEATER.

I'M NOT THE SPEAKER,
I'M JUST THE REPEATER.

I'M NOT THE WITNESS,
I WAS THE BYSTANDER.

I'M NOT THE POET,
THIS IS MY CONFESSION.

I'M NOT THE SPEAKER,
I'M JUST THE REPEATER.

THIS IS YOUR WARNING,
YOU BEST CHECK YOUR SOURCES.

I'M NOT THE SPEAKER,
I'M JUST THE REPEATER.

I'M JUST THE REPEATER.

JUST THE REPATER.

REPEAT.

REPEAT.

I DO NOT SPEAK.

SO WHY DO YOU LISTEN?
Some words are never truly ours.
We say them, shape them, pass them on.
Yet in the end, they belong to the voices that cannot speak.

To listen to echoes, is not to hear lies.
It is simply the only way to connect with a speaker you cannot hear.
For it is only the author who could possibly know for sure what they said,
What they did,
What truly happened.

It is up to the author to repeat the events.
And it is up to the reader to believe them.

Dear reader, do you trust your author to speak the truth?
If there is value in the stories told by authors,
Is there value in stories told by rumors?

Is this relevant?
Or am I rambling?

Is there already an answer?
Who gets to decide?


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/

— The End —