- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Poems & Poetry
~~~ Thou Art... ~~~
~ Thou Art ... ~
“ You are the day; you are tonight; you are delay, you are a light. Thou art a revelation of quiet desperation; a proud arrow fired by the bow into an ugly world to bequeath his technicoloured splendour. My belle is a sea lily careening down Summer’s gentle stream; yea, a hint of comely anticipation, unto patchouli, greeting an angel’s nostril. You are the soul of a muse bottling a thousand hearts in the glass of your eyne. You are the pain of man and the mystery of his despair; bedazzling jewel beyond compare. You are the unheard roar of the lion behind a warrior’s shield; you are the purpose which lifts his claymore when joyous thoughts of coming home to thee becomest the fear in his enemy’s visage.
You are the anatomy of a tear; an image in the mist; a talisman of uncertain fortune; vice-regent with emotion and a tender varlet. You are the pause between the words; the clause between two worlds; the lull betwixt twain heartbeats. Thou art the password of amore’ which turns a name to ‘ need ‘ whenever one longs to be near you. You are the single moment of a hundred gathered thoughts behind orbs which boast the finest interpretation of Shakespearean silence.
Never was there a night when moonlight failed to make thee look beautiful. Tears of ecstasy borrow meaning from your life which art the crystalline quartz, fashioned in a true heart by that unfathomable fairness known simply as woman.”
So gentle now are the hours which no longer hold her in an iron grip; as free as a little fish in the great big blue. Minutes pass with a cheery wave as seconds nestle in her soul with whatever they may find. Stars witness naked eyes; fizzled dots of nought fill with everything they need, for nothing feels right in a sea of night, when puddles which eyes spoke mirrored a hundred untouchable moons in elusive reflections of clouded pearl.
Charity’s lunar ball came out to play and sought thee in love with a feint voice which tore through the fabric of time, seeking to stroke a shifting soul within a pensive aura. Her soft words were sweet death, as laudanum, stilling a poem’s throb; her stony verse wrapped in stolen sunlight kept arrested hearts beating by miracle alone.
She is as comforting as a milk thistle removed from a pussy-cat’s paw and is the wife of daystar whose farewell molten kisses lend her permanent glow; never to meet her sol again ‘till she covers his face in synod for all the world to see.
Verily, who was the secret embrace of your heart when time forgot thee? Who became the droplet you dared not cry?; the molten bead of tumbled love smudging a page with happy eyes from loving which was sweeter than true? Whose was the eye that never saw that which the heart could never forget, e’en your wish-come-true who blinded the world so one couldeth gaze upon your beauty only, giving you everything you had ever lost in an instant? Thou kept thee safe in my lofty nest when the world closed in around you; high and distant from your troubles so thee could live closer to the rainbow.
Lo; thou wert desire wrapped in a memory; the halo upon halo of a midday sun. As a unicorn tear fell from my only rose, you became the fold in the petal of the flower’s mouth, entombing thy bee in a coffin of salted love, preserving his heart in the silk of its honeyed eyne.
“ Thy moon be served on a platter this night,
‘Pon a sprinkling of stars, whetting appetite;
Aye, it’s too late now for your man hath seen,
Inner beauty, he’s yours, ‘till le soir, turns cream.”