On the shores of light at the edge of night- the poet weeps for his lost love
The old marble statues stand white- in the garden bright
The buttercups are in dew- trimmed with hedges of yew
She has left him- amongst the bright flowers
Through the flowing of his tears- and the sweet music of the spheres
He can hear the angel’s sing- she has gone beyond the portal
To the castle of the King
With his face buried in the long uncut grass- the poet wept
And the sun of the coming day- was shone on his solitude
Offline)
Comments3
THANKS WW ~ Love the visual and the glow and flow of the poem. In my experience "lost love" is too too intense and personal for reality and it can only be cauterized with fantasy. Thanks for sharing ~ Your Friend BRIAN
Thank you so much el hermano! ww
I really love this piece 💐💐💐
Thank you Alita you are to kind! ww
Great poem WW, you expressed your point perfectly! I love the imagery in your poems, brilliant yet again!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.