"morninglight" poems - Hello Poetry

I will be here through the night, Until the moon sinks, seeking rest beneath a cool dark shade, The life which grows from light, is slumbering tight under a wonderful cover, the flowers have closed, awaiting another day, But I cannot rest, for time has become endless for me, I can't set. Why is it now that no one will hear my call, reflected in moonlight, Why is it now that I feel so alive, even though I'm already long dead ? First days, then months and finally years, pass, fall one by one, only a dim memory remains, what's left is a given; knowledge, of course. Longing for the meaning of life, the fate was already determined, Chains which bind me to make me carry on with my mission, In a distorted dark sound melts into silence, losing it's colour, Darkness in life and death carried by a curse of greed made me fear the coming day, sunlight, it burns, it hurts, I'll nevr be blessed by it, The taste of blood on my fangs, sorrowful but also filled with hope, make me remember what it must be like to be a human, to be normal, Even this scattered instant of a moment possesses unshakable love, Ablaze, drawn out here in this holy world undear the nightsky, Unable to advance or return, is there sense to believe in the future? To face the dark clouds is the golden rule, so I don't give up, This endless battle always was so meaningless, I forgot how it started, The meaning of life...even it it remains unknown for me, like you it must exist and is that not very beautiful in its very own way ? Darling, if I should perish by the morninglight, sing me a lullaby! A lullaby for a vampire ~ Umi

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May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC

UmiofLove

Through the Night

I will be here through the night, Until the moon sinks, seeking rest beneath a cool dark shade, The life which grows from light, is slumbering tight under a wonderful cover, the flowers have closed, awaiting another day, But I cannot rest, for time has become endless for me, I can't set. Why is it now that no one will hear my call, reflected in moonlight, Why is it now that I feel so alive, even though I'm already long dead ? First days, then months and finally years, pass, fall one by one, only a dim memory remains, what's left is a given; knowledge, of course. Longing for the meaning of life, the fate was already determined, Chains which bind me to make me carry on with my mission, In a distorted dark sound melts into silence, losing it's colour, Darkness in life and death carried by a curse of greed made me fear the coming day, sunlight, it burns, it hurts, I'll nevr be blessed by it, The taste of blood on my fangs, sorrowful but also filled with hope, make me remember what it must be like to be a human, to be normal, Even this scattered instant of a moment possesses unshakable love, Ablaze, drawn out here in this holy world undear the nightsky, Unable to advance or return, is there sense to believe in the future? To face the dark clouds is the golden rule, so I don't give up, This endless battle always was so meaningless, I forgot how it started, The meaning of life...even it it remains unknown for me, like you it must exist and is that not very beautiful in its very own way ? Darling, if I should perish by the morninglight, sing me a lullaby! A lullaby for a vampire ~ Umi

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As the day passes to night i will Walk till the morninglight. In search of a love to make Life right. For under the stars is where I shall make love stand the test of time for it is now I shall take her hand.

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Aug 3, 2010

Aug 3, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC

blake-hamilton

Hand

As the day passes to night i will Walk till the morninglight. In search of a love to make Life right. For under the stars is where I shall make love stand the test of time for it is now I shall take her hand.

7

First morninglight through windowpane falls to kiss the carpet, our front garden’s Clarkia left no trace of last night’s condensed mist. Is there happiness enough to fill these rooms, or could there ever be? Like the relief that echoes through living rooms on Christmas noons, like the smile rising from a voice at the suggestion of “Tea?” Will the cosy silence play to win out the crowd’s lament? Will the dinnertime rustle deliver imagination out from under time's sway? Do these questions sound like asking the weight of water? A cup of late youth’s innocence to be drenched with irony, pity’s daughter? The home to while the world away, where to process life’s refinery A well-made plot that shuns a twist. A dry-witted author Whose lust is the mundane.

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Sep 1, 2017

Sep 1, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC

westley-barnes

A Pastoral Scene

First morninglight through windowpane falls to kiss the carpet, our front garden’s Clarkia left no trace of last night’s condensed mist. Is there happiness enough to fill these rooms, or could there ever be? Like the relief that echoes through living rooms on Christmas noons, like the smile rising from a voice at the suggestion of “Tea?” Will the cosy silence play to win out the crowd’s lament? Will the dinnertime rustle deliver imagination out from under time's sway? Do these questions sound like asking the weight of water? A cup of late youth’s innocence to be drenched with irony, pity’s daughter? The home to while the world away, where to process life’s refinery A well-made plot that shuns a twist. A dry-witted author Whose lust is the mundane.

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