Perhaps, a Poem
I first read Lord Byron's poetry after our love was lost.
The poet wrote of his grieving in 'When We Two Parted.'
Both of us went our separate ways, sorrow, the high cost.
When love withered and died, I was left broken hearted.
Byron penned how his time of "silence and tears," endured.
I grieve without your hand's gentle touch upon my cheek,
without the kiss of your soft lips, ones that I had allured,
Byron's verses were the sort of words I could not speak.
I couldn't tell you of the tears I cried, each one falling away,
or how often I whispered your name in a nightly dream.
I lived with romantic despair that Sonnets woefully convey,
but on waking, I found my reveries were not what they seem.
I quote a lesser of Byron's lines, for it's now my favorite one.
He wrote, "Those beloved, vanish'd hours my soul was given thee."
'Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not' made me feel dolefully undone.
Bereft but "may never be forgot," although our love ceased to be.
I fear that I shall eternally be reminded of the love we shared.
No dream can restore it when it's faded like stars in sunlight,
or withered flower petals. Pity my heart has not been spared.
Perhaps, a poem I should write to fill the loneliness of each night.
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2025
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