such dread have I for these dark days
that stalk me through November
these dying moments hold no praise
for me, and my rememberances
of bright springtime’s hours that shone
their hope in light upon my eyes,
and in its shadows one by one
those hopes I had with time will die.
I dwell upon blind Cupid’s darts
and wonder if they find the hearts
to which they’re fully aimed in innocence
and should they not their bounty make
does Cupid mark well his mistake
and guide his next shot with more measured hesitance
you are not the summer’s rose
for their bouquet fades away
and silken petals turn to dust
the ashes of lost memory
but you, my heart, do not fade
my love it knows no entropy
and not death’s unceasing blade
dare cut you from eternity.
my words are still to be unearthed
their lines have not yet formed
metre and rhyme await their verse
‘fore poetry is from me born
the shore dwells not upon the waves
that wash upon eternal sands
nor should we let our hearts cave
to troubled thoughts and dark demands
all good conscience falls
as scales from blinded eyes
in the sight of passion’s calls
and that which desire inspires
what bright pleasures are illuminated
out from shadows by your eyes
I yearn to sample every sin
that lit within our glances lie.
what ungrateful progeny,
suckled as we were
by the lushest forest
only to, in our petulance
deny our mother
and scourge her love.
who are the faceless
this concourse of companions
known only in dreams?
will these stone masks fall
to reveal some hidden truth
before I awake?
or am I destined
to question all my nightmares
until my last dawn?
this love is as the dragon’s breath
and in its fires we kiss
let ashes keep the fragments
from the heartbeats we have missed