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Poem



Beneath the velvet shroud of night, 
where shadows weep,
I weave a melody of sorrow, 
secrets I must keep.

No malice meant, no cruel design, 
just longing's sting,
To paint your smile on moonlit clouds, 
a song my heart would sing.

In every sigh, a nocturne's grace, 
a cosmic ballet spun,
Where pain and beauty waltz as one, 
by whispers of the sun.
My canvas bleeds with indigo, 
a symphony's command,
To chase away the shadows there, 
and hold your laughing hand.

Oh, let the lyre of dawn ignite, 
on strings of memory,
A dance of souls, 
where past and present weave tapestry.
In echoes born of wind and tide, 
where moonbeams softly gleam,
I yearn to see you pirouette, 
a radiant, joyful dream.

No merchant's bargain binds this art, 
no currency of fame,
Just whispers on the starlight's breath, 
a whispered lover's name.
Across the cosmic canvas vast, 
where galaxies convene,
My brush seeks only your delight, 
your laughter bathed in sheen.

So let the purple rain descend, 
a curtain for our stage,
Where every drop, a crystal kiss, 
turns grief to gilded page.
For in this symphony of woe, 
where hope's last ember glows,
My heart finds solace, finding you, 
where laughter overflows.

:: 01.15.2024 ::

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