My muse
The dark tresses of his soul
The unfathomable depth of grief.
A fight worth fighting
Is not a fight at all.
His tempo guides my words
A requiem of emotion
Finding itself bathed in jade.
I cannot mourn
For what I haven’t truly lost,
But his color is true,
I find strength within it;
A deep, unyielding blue.
He guides me without thought.
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Author:
Rael (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 1st, 2023 10:33
- Comment from author about the poem: Does a poem need to rhyme? Does it need meter? Experiment today, and you might find something that reflects you. Thank you for reading.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
A poem is a poem - unless it's a fruit cake ....erm, that's me! lol.
A random bit of nonsense there from me. heehee.
Bits of nonsense are appreciated haha
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