PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A faint murmur in the blessed bosom,

Is not the tremor of unready days,

More the thought of her distant ways,

That time doth allow the uncertainty lessen.

As one may grow reconciled to the differences,

It does again quiver likened to a homed dart.

It is surely the distances measured;

The keeper that besets upon my heart.



I am not to clutch with trepid fear,

The life that graced yet not sworn my own,

For to me it is the life quite dear,

That need I let depart in its blaze to glow,

Similar to a small sample at a morgue,

To determine the cause of death,

It is with this clinical skill,

I have no want to catch her breath.



So she will dance in sun and rain,

As my eyes twinkle on her arrival,

I give it is for my survival,

That I cannot for her disdain.

As myself I hold this to my soul,

Where once an all engulfing fire,

Cindered cities with all desire,

Is now but a charred and blackened hole.