Michael Edwards

HIS NAME NOT HANDED DOWN

 

 

HIS NAME NOT HANDED DOWN

 

 

The moon in high suspension hung

above the wandering clouds through which

its peering evanescent rays

looked in through windows long begrimed

upon the bed in which she slept

without a fear of shadows.

 

As early morn began to break

her heart now roused by rising sun

she ventured to an empty room

where muted sounds were feebly heard

and ticking clocks divide the day

she hummed a mournful tune.

 

Though sleep charmed sorrows from her mind

the day brought judgement darkly known

and reason mocked her transient thoughts

as tracts of logic soon outran

delusions brought by vain conceit

in isolation from the night.

 

And with her hearts unconscious calling

she sighed a sigh of desperation

as she recalled in measured glides

the man of whom she dreamt all night

a man with whom she never danced

his name not handed down.

 

 

 

 

Michael Edwards © May 2017