fickle ingot
In the shadows of a slumber long forsaken,
You emerged, a murmur, faint and ethereal.
As if by fate’s own whimsy shaken,
In a world where darkness held the real.
You grinned, and suddenly, the dusk took flight,
Grey cobblestones bathed in a glow unseen.
It seemed the stars had ceased their plight,
To whisper sweetly in my ear, a name serene.
A being of such tender grace, you stand,
As if the dawn had molded your fair face.
Your gaze, a symphony of tears and laughter,
A silent sonnet to the human race.
Yet, I—a mere specter in this grand play,
Unworthy of your notice, a common soul.
With thoughts that echo like a distant bell,
And footsteps soft as shadows on a scroll.
When words escape your lips, I am transfixed,
A child in awe of a waking vision.
For fear that you might slip away, I am nixed,
In silent reverie, in quiet decision.
The truth is stark, a painful thorn,
You belong to halls of chandeliers and silk.
I, a mere mortal, am but a pawn,
Whose heart you might not even feel the tilt.
Yet if you knew, my dearest heart,
The depth of love that lies within.
I’d offer lifetimes, each a work of art,
To hold your hand, a silent win.
Not as a supplicant, seeking your embrace,
But as a soul who’s found its final berth.
In your eyes, I find my place,
Where I am home, without need for further search.
Should I possess the valor of a king,
I’d speak, though trembling, of this plight.
How your smile, it does me sing,
And makes me feel alive, not just a mere mortal’s might.
A fleeting chapter in your grand design,
I am, a moment’s pause in your tale.
But in this realm of yours, so bright and fine,
For me, you are the book that never stale.
Know this, my muse, my silent queen,
Though I am but an ordinary man,
You’ve filled my nights with a dream unseen,
And left me forever to weave your refrain.
sinful hinge