Email Poem

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Poem

Tis’ truly hopeless…I cannot save myself from thee

Shakespeare’s sonnets, serenades and poetry all tis’ true?

Yet, I must profess

Every desire of adoration, before I am through

 

Thine smile shine unto those tone enriching eyes

In my direction peer but, for shortest of while, seemingly chide

The sweet elixir my heart doth drink

Each sip of yon radiance goes undefined

 

So what must I do? As I stand here within a daze

Being mine own contemporary cupid

With crowds that gather round

My performance as fool deems quite too lucid

 

The puckering lips, tis’ my sending arrows  and my palm tis’ the bow

Sweetest not than darker chocolates, but my blowing kisses

Hoping for an open heart

To be pierced by my wanting wishes

 

The crowds of silence now,

Frozen stiff in pondering state

Of thy expecting receptions

which soon chooses  to my fate?

 

Tis’ thy eyes now stained with tear

That fall upon arrow’s head cold

Melting, melting

Into the puddles of my hope

 

Thy smile returns

With eyes quite sincere

A delivery of thy own kisses

When ye traverse so wildly near

 

And thy offer tis’ feral tense

Cut short by standers approvingly to cheer

Shakespeare’s sonnets, serenades

And his poetry all of it tis’ here

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