Pained

Pained by moonlight

I sit at silent court,
by moonlight barely throned.
I count the days, the seconds start,
to burn away the hours, thinking.
And what should cause me this,
this teasing pain, this ache?
I wonder as I seldomn sleep,
more often when I wake.

And though you hate it,
the whispered sound of rhyme,
I sometimes fall, I sometimes slip,
not oft, but all the time.

Maybe I was free that time,
those moments help years ago,
maybe I knew peace,
or perhaps I was in pieces.
Waiting, watching, loving...
Ah, but thats conceit, no?
Supposing that I lost,
and loved, yet lost still.
Dreaming that I loved not lost,
remonstrations down an age,
chastised by fears and doubts.

What am I? Without,
that part that made me,
that segment now missing.
Aspects guide me in my,
sweet melancholy.

Whiskey after sundown, ebbing,
flowing like a tear-filled glass.
I would watch the city pass,
watch all the works of man,
be dust in this mortal game,
watching eons pass.
I would watch Carthage burn,
and all Rome tumble.
I would sing conceits,
and songs of shattered,
broken times like glass.

Sing with me, bloodlove,
the mirrior shows a face,
a mask to hide behind,
a question not yet asked,
and I would ask them,
oh so freely...

Love me?

Reviews

[ZmH]

i love this poem! your an amazing writer