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Will you - your sun's inferno burning bright, Your radiance demanding all the sky - Reach down a blessed fingertip, tonight? Will hands know how to meet as you and I Lock eyes and blind each other with our light? Let darkness fall. Burn me, your firefly. The gods will have the sacraments they claim. These words, an offering, burn just the same. And will you turn your moonlit face from me? Will midnight mystery reclaim your smile, As silver starlight fades to reverie Until the sky hangs empty, mile for mile? If I must spend my sight, myself, to see, At least we burn with your exclusive style. What shades of you remain are paradise - A shame I won't bear witness to you twice.
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Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
icarus (ottava rima)
Will you - your sun's inferno burning bright, Your radiance demanding all the sky - Reach down a blessed fingertip, tonight? Will hands know how to meet as you and I Lock eyes and blind each other with our light? Let darkness fall. Burn me, your firefly. The gods will have the sacraments they claim. These words, an offering, burn just the same. And will you turn your moonlit face from me? Will midnight mystery reclaim your smile, As silver starlight fades to reverie Until the sky hangs empty, mile for mile? If I must spend my sight, myself, to see, At least we burn with your exclusive style. What shades of you remain are paradise - A shame I won't bear witness to you twice.
As prompted by a fellow poet.
chirurgeon
Written by
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
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