The air sighs with a sense of loss
In stainless sensitivity,
Like spiritual embroidering
That hems its edges to the sea,
In lace like frills of savoir faire
Entangled white and cochineal,
That leaves its stamp upon the night
Just like a medieval seal.
Tired waves glow in the darkness
As they drift upon inverted sands,
Those tethered streams and lunar gleams
That speak within of distant lands,
Where skies speak different languages
And dream in many different shades,
Somnambulistic through the night
Before each pinpoint whisper fades.
Upon the cliff top looking up
Were crystal eyes that held the moon,
Her softly breathing sentences
Gave all her Prayers a sacred tune,
Her shoulders glowed in crochet white
And diamonds shone upon her hair,
She held her arms up to the stars
Surrendered to celestial care.
And in the morning on the cliff
He stood there bathed in loneliness,
As couples watched the blooming day
Put on a brand new morning dress,
And as he slowly turned away
From what was once their meeting spot,
He picked a flower by his feet
The flower was forget-me-not..
Poem of The Week