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Dawne Crumpler Poem
Frozen star-fire, with beauty distant, and glimmer chill, wherefore is thy light?
Consumed by darkness, bitter-bleak and howling damned, bleeding in the night.
What raptures swept past, like blazing comet’s tail fading ‘gainst heaven’s infinite black?
Now memory and thought, a ghost upon the lips, yet glimmering dimly still.
What phantasmal utterance might resurrect embers cold and scattered?
Hear not those round tones, soft spoken and honey-poured, those drizzled words of ambrosia promises.
That murmur, whispered words of shadows’ fancy, is vainly wasted.
Fade not away, that pale illumination, crystal-washed and unsullied,
Rather, silent-sweet hang, amid glittering brethren, though far more brightly glow.
Copyright © Dawne Crumpler | Year Posted 2015
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Dawne Crumpler Poem
What treasure rare and highly hung should ever lofty drape,
‘Cross heavens bright while flouting fate,
Ever lofty accolade, past reach of fingers stretched,
What would soften stony aura?
What touch could soften apathy flesh bound?
Let not bitter remembrance sting,
But adoration soften cares bygone,
Truth might soften hardness old,
Though proven only hard of trial,
Proven still when heart relents
Copyright © Dawne Crumpler | Year Posted 2015
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Dawne Crumpler Poem
What phantasmal shadows have before my visage flown? Spectres fleeting, heart shards fled into the abyss of night. This precipice upon which I teeter yaws wide beneath feet ungrounded, clutching desperate at bosom rent and shattered. Poor shadows all, perhaps fevered dreams, vapor beneath questing fingers. Burning passions swallowed up in absence, body swathed in void. That longing which lingers, taunts with laughter empty. A reminder of figments once called 'lover' memories of hands fiery gone cold as ash. O maddened heart, cease and be still, no whirling dervish are you, but a poor fool deluded by grandeur and fantasy. Be still and remember let delve deep twisted root, fly not into the expanse for fancy, nor delusion. Hush now thou crazed spirit, struggle not and rage no more. Be still, be sill, and let whispers scream howling, echoed across the solitude. And know only the company of ghosts.
Copyright © Dawne Crumpler | Year Posted 2017
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