Twas in fickle days that came the loathing of sickle ways. At every recollection of the faces that play the masque of war, relinquishes my remembrance of the gelid shore. It was there, when my head may lay upon her breast, the only place tranquility filled my rest. When my tongue was forevermore chained by the blistering flames of grief, and to this; thy cruel endorse that has poisoned my heart with remorse. The only place I shall find refuge, is falling into your resplendent grace. As the hours growth so late, I hear the words upon hateful tongues so faint. The things that strike my ear, unfold all the things I feared. How it was so, that oft did they vanquish us with scoff. Never do we doubt, and yet they shut us out. Where am I to dwell but in the sanctum of your heart, and if thus, this conflict is soon to start. What this affection may upon us bestow, I dare not know. But in the hour that is to be stricken, I find hope in the letters you have written.
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Author:
Sefrin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 13th, 2017 00:09
- Comment from author about the poem: Reflections upon thy frailest' of times methinks shall forsake heartache more than what has been forgotten.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 72
- User favorite of this poem: Its Raskolnikov.
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Comments4
WELCOME LASCENASE ~ Thanks for a very elegant poem in both Structure and Subject ! Like KAT I love your choice of Elizabethan English it reads like a Shakespearean Sonnet ~ more please. I emparthise with your sentiments of LOVE ~ Thanks for sharing. Please check my poems ~ Thanks BRIAN
I shall do so in seeing what splendid work you have. Thank you for such a warm welcome.
Splendid! I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Thank ye.
Awesome write really enjoyed reading your words
Much thanks!
Welcome
Amazing.
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