So night has fallen.
Soon the hush of this misted dark will usher in midnight gloom.
My haunted imaginings still murmur.
I wish I were a poem,
Not a thing merely forged, pretending to be a poet.
To watch you open your soul to me,
To be the words limned on a poetic canvas,
To feel you come alive as you read me
—then
To be left alone, to evanesce
Like the calming, delicate mist hanging over the river evaporates in the morning sunshine
To be your lines—soon forgotten,
Conceived within your wondrous mind,
Born of revelation sublime,
Shaped by deliberate love and measured rhyme
—then
To be solus, consigned to oblivion and unloved
Like a waning moon, dimmed smile and broken dove
What once was a beautifully polished and stirring wordplay, soon
To be nothing and utterly replaced
Like a song newly heard
I am loved
Once a last musical note fades
I am dead.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 2:05 AM UTC
So night has fallen.
Soon the hush of this misted dark will usher in midnight gloom.
My haunted imaginings still murmur.
I wish I were a poem,
Not a thing merely forged, pretending to be a poet.
To watch you open your soul to me,
To be the words limned on a poetic canvas,
To feel you come alive as you read me
—then
To be left alone, to evanesce
Like the calming, delicate mist hanging over the river evaporates in the morning sunshine
To be your lines—soon forgotten,
Conceived within your wondrous mind,
Born of revelation sublime,
Shaped by deliberate love and measured rhyme
—then
To be solus, consigned to oblivion and unloved
Like a waning moon, dimmed smile and broken dove
What once was a beautifully polished and stirring wordplay, soon
To be nothing and utterly replaced
Like a song newly heard
I am loved
Once a last musical note fades
I am dead.
