Mémoire

On reminiscence (despite senescence) of a loved one, and the art of storytelling.

Being of many a moon and gray strand at present,
I strain now to recall stories told upon creeping bent.
What shame to forget! his unyielding effervescence;
My Storyteller, who spun prose under midnight's crescent.
Lush tales of rooftops flaunting their gaunt spires,
Whereupon sits a loathsome goyle.
"Elsewhere," he detailed, "Within the wretched mires,"
"Blithe beldams bring cauldrons to boil."
The eras have droned by; my only Love, my Mystery.
Now lying under starless sky replaced by a cities bright,
Mine mémoire ostensibly predating protohistory
Even so! no hope lost, for the return of goodliest night
All these words begotten from thine saturnine smile
I await them always, always; fretfully clutching the subway turnstile.

Reviews

[Tallulah]

I think this pieces is very lovely and beautiful and once you kinda get how its suppose to sound it can have a musical quality to it. The imagery is quite amazing and you are very talented but I do have a suggestion. You have a beautiful vocabulary a very large one and that's great. Unfortunately you kind of bombard your readers with rather large words which make the poem kinda hard to read. I found myself stumbling through someone the lines because of the complicated words they also made the poem a little hard to understand for those of us like me with a not so extensive vocabulary. While a few big, beautiful words can add spice and excitement to any piece adding to many big words detracts from the piece and often discourages the reader as well as making the piece wordy. But aside from that this piece was beautiful and absolutely lovely.
Much Love,
Tallulah