O' My Spirit

O' my spirit, what fate has befallen thee?
Thy melancholy's gloom shear'd my vouchsafed wings,
The cold thereof did break the Cupid's bowstrings,
Beatific birds of thought, once flying free,

Thou unbosom'd a tale, whence my penning spree,
Though pain hath stifled speech, thy sigh clearly rings,
As thy hush prolongeth, my night's anguish stings,
O' speak brother, ere love's grace doth swiftly flee!

I bleed with thy wound and heal as thou dost ease,
Dust I am, and so return, docile and weak,

I pray for thy voice, amongst all remedies,
Though my faith be loosed, and every hope is bleak,

Thy words a flickering warmth to my mem'ries,
Thus, to save her light alive, I beg thee, speak.

Full well I know, this path leadeth to shadow,
And in each moment, till our brief time doth cease,
Misery weighs on us, remorse doth decree.

Yet in our darkest hours where no star doth glow,
O' soul, let her outshine the ether with peace,
Swear to her grace, I implore, breathe her to me.

6/03/2025