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Recalling Times (poem)
Recalling times which were no longer there
Somehow I let them vanish into air
Through windows of my memories I stare
With stream of tears of missing her I bear
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Her light would be the blessing of the morn
Each heartbeat thoughts of kisses would be born
The hope of ever after she’d adorn
And to this gift of heaven I was sworn
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Each dream which fashioned wonder saw us there
We were the mist of lovers to be born
Ours was the flame which passion would adorn
The season’s winds enchantments we would bear
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But then one cruel and dismal distant morn
A bitter taste of nothing filled the air
The shadow of her absence caught my stare
My cold and empty future was now sworn
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And so was born the loneliness I bear
As through my murky window I now stare
With memories much thinner than the air
Recalling times which were not really there
Comments
A lost love for whatever reason can do that, as well as something that we were used to being able to do.
Great poem, touched my heart.
The lonliness was so real and it made me think of times passed as well. You really put a lot of emotion into this excellent poem.
This poem can wrench hearts. Cheers to a master poet!
Wistful, lonely, sad. We can all identify with this on some level.
This is such a sad poem, Martin, but like all your poems it's beautiful, too.
Very well expressed that sadness for the past ... that never was ...
Up and more and sharing
Hugs, Faith Reaper
You create the atmosphere so well in this poem, sadness for something that never was.
I got life real good right about now. But I still enjoy a good sad memory. Beautiful example of your craft.
Martin, this is a very heartfelt poem -- I feel the longing for what was. You have a great knowledge of how to use words to create moods. Beauiful.
Well done Martin! When a poet can place us in a wistful mood then that poet has done his job well, and you have.
As i read your words, i felt your longing for time past. Beautiful!
An all encompassing loneliness can be felt through you poem.
Eerily beautiful, Martin.
DJ.
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