Hidden in the Rye

With compassion, ruled the sun of hope to set,
Behind the high mount where bitter truths rest,
Lest my eyes be burned, though light lingers yet,
A disorienting dawn, now breaking in my chest.

You veiled your visage, a bright and silver moon,
To break the spell and tear my delirium apart,
And hid in the grey clouds, but it was too soon,
For your gravity still pulls the tides of my heart.

A calm face on the surface, a passing breeze,
That whispers through the reeds along the creeks,
While deep inside, where the stony layers cease,
Warmth feeds the spring whence my poem speaks.

No remedy to be besought from heavens above,
For my soul is claimed by a divine, courtly love.

8/14/2025