Dane Anne
this enchantment
it cannot be measured
it cannot be weighed
it cannot be told in time
or days
yet here it is as i'll describe
tis in my riding
tis in my play
tis in my working
each and everyday
my worship has dwindled
my real prayers are sinful
and my god is a genie
who's bottle is covered with sand
my love is the maid
Dane Anne
and thousands of suitors
have ask for her hand
all dressed like princes
in gem's and furs
lined with red and purple silk
armed with jewel encrusted stilleto's
and gold belts
capes with gold and silver
tapestry all with original designs
of family crest
Noblemen and boys
riding every kind of fanciful horse
smooth, brushed and well feed
but their confidence
is all but drained
by shear number of similar suitors
but beauty and prize
will not let them leave
and such as i but in
much lesser degree
of nobility
a commoner, a peasant, a spoiler
one who would pluck the flower
before it was meant to be plucked
one who's eyes have been challenged
beyond lust
one who's faith has come to believe
that this fair maid Dane Anne
belongs to me alone
no man has suffered
as much as i
to be over looked as a suitor
a sore in one's eye
yet no one can care more
or even try
for her hand i give all
and perhaps i'll die
for all my waken moments
find her haunting still
this magic over me
it must be her will
can such beauty cast
such an evil spell
that if thinking for
myself; i cannot tell
or is there a cupid
a godly spell
one that takes my willingness
under his own will
perhaps possessed by a spirit
who through love
can only live
empowered by my weakness
demanding that all i give
but such this state
i am
and complain, i do not
for such a gift is love
that will never be forgot
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment