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"Images..."
@Uootem
Mystical images
enchanting metaphors
the dreams of many nights,
seen through the eternal lights of the poet.
without such visions from his hand
all his hope would soon vanish,
but with them is created confusion...
for he soon forgets whether it was real or
was it all just an illusion?
wings of white... with all its purity
grow out of this page and the others before,
but all virtuous qualities
of the black ink of my pen it lacks....
for the love of which
the words are to speak of is missing.
To touch your heart is what I want.
Let you read within to recall what we shared,
then maybe I can find myself...
for it was in your love I became lost
and in its renewal my only salvation.
Your poet is what I want to be,
inspired to write with all I see in you.
But we were not meant to be forever!
were we... were we?
I was wrong perhaps to fall so deep,
for now I have emotions to keep...
... if it was wrong, why did it feel so right?
and why can I still write of the losing?
The arrow from cupid's bow
that once penetrated my heart,
has now become blotches of black ink.
A love that I had allowed to pass me by,
will now return and swallow me whole,
but I won't stop writing of its glory.
Someday I will deliver my words to you
for finally you will know my lasting torment
then I will then disappear from sight once again,
and begin to grieve my pain,
and maybe transform into your poet again.
Poets should never fall in love at all,
once they do it is an eternal fall.
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