Immortal Beloved: Poetry

It was all this in the end, My Love:

Idle words made into daggers,
voices mired down with pain,
tense silence that filled the Void
that struggled mightily to claim to You

If only I'd carried You to the Light
where the children of Hyperboreans 
cannot pass nor flourish

My touch would have healed there
with ample strokes upon your 
brow as I loved you back to health

I could have let you see
the illusion all around us that 
masks the reality of Love

Then I would not be here 
with these memories without you,
falling into their miasma 
one bleeding second at a time.

Blog Archive