pastel lantern
Warmth, my love seeks,
Little did she know,
As the quill remains, flares of ash rest to dust,
For my skin burnt to cure her cold,
Furnace of reminiscence, shivered soul turned serene,
Loss of a young child,
Poet who never knew love.
Foolish, young lover was,
Mistaken romance for only two,
One to die for; one to kill for,
As the ash settled, October quelled,
“Lord have mercy” for the love he yearned for,
Was the one to live for.
Only if October never existed,
The cold never came,
The tears never froze,
And she was never close,
Would I be of any reason,
Sole purpose to find purpose…
True that, he’s never felt a women’s caress,
Very care he remains for,
Her eyes poured wine, cured of sore throat,
Day and night ballads, the bard who’s lost his mind.
Yet none to fear, it’s only October,
A month damned to imminent slaughter;
Lamb inclined to demise,
The fire will be quenched, it’s cold after all,
This the Circadian Array; a soul defined by a month.
dry shoal
hard knot
glad barn