She holds her face shrouded,
As if in a dusky gray fog of moor,
Or the smoke of a night fire,
And my eyes search to penetrate-
Her shadowed broken exterior.
If I were the ray of a sunbeam,
I might by fortuitous chance,
Brighten the path set afore,
Because the world is a darkened-
And one ought never walk alone.
The curved paths we make,
Each forged of what-if and could,
Each a silver span of time and space,
Mine and hers will never cross,
But bitter hopes set hollow hearts-
This man was born to dream.
I will compose music unheard,
And I will write stories unread,
And I will speak words unspoken,
All for naught but human passion.
Who am I the dreamers device?
What urgency bids my voice speak?
These words but locked in a lattice,
Of electrons and silicon mountains.
The efforts of immortality to escape.
She holds her face shrouded,
And it feels as if the world itself,
Is falling inwards towards my feet.
If but time itself would stand still,
I would pause at this most perfect-
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
Step Into The Light (Poetry and Prose Journal)
Thơ CaA poetry and prose journal of sorts. Be forewarned though, you might not get what you are expecting. Added to on a semi-regular basis.
