The moon does seem to mirror my regret,
with light that fails to brighten skies to day,
it cannot blot those stars, so far away;
those jewels I could not reach and can't forget.
And as the weak one in heaven's duet;
that pale comparison, shining so grey,
without the strength to forge its own display,
those beams reflect resentment for my debt.
But should we ask the sun of jealousies
or failures through the years, when one's self-tasked;
I think we'll find regrets are not so rare,
when dreams to paint your face upon black seas
or glow with lovers on the nights they basked
are shattered by your own confounding glare.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
The moon does seem to mirror my regret,
with light that fails to brighten skies to day,
it cannot blot those stars, so far away;
those jewels I could not reach and can't forget.
And as the weak one in heaven's duet;
that pale comparison, shining so grey,
without the strength to forge its own display,
those beams reflect resentment for my debt.
But should we ask the sun of jealousies
or failures through the years, when one's self-tasked;
I think we'll find regrets are not so rare,
when dreams to paint your face upon black seas
or glow with lovers on the nights they basked
are shattered by your own confounding glare.
Request permission to use this poem