Dreamscape of the Lovelorn
As I sit once more in this chair,
trying to fit word to page in some nice way,
inspiration seems, this evening, rare;
my muse is distracted, keeping melancholy at bay.
I long for a soft, pliant embrace,
shared by a maiden draped in silken thread;
moonlight brightening her already radiant face,
and her enchanting smile, at what could lie ahead.
Her shining hair pours down her back,
like the rain in which we stand;
the right way she seems to lack,
as she looks to me for a guiding hand.
These hands glide down, around her waist,
and slowly we begin to dance.
Underneath the stars, our own new path is traced,
as we float along, in our lover's trance.
The feel of her, so near and so warm,
I cling to, like a drowner's lifeline;
her every sigh, her very form,
beyond my imaginings of the divine.
To go on like this, held enchanted
in her eyes, serenity's sweet founts,
I feel would be my heaven granted;
my trials, her affection surmounts.
The haze shimmers, the dream recedes,
leaving me dazed, shaken in its wake;
as ever and always, my heart bleeds,
craving an end to its boundless, yearning ache.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2012
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