Vestige

 

Decrepit thing I am, a shadow of a shadow,

Roaming shores to shield these faults, which come

Only when the Moon should discover my eyes.

 

Yet when She should fall and the silence fades,

Life appears...boisterous, obnoxious life of light...

And the precious hope for lasting peace dies.

 

As I find Her now, shining through the dark,
I am reminded of that forsaken hope, lost and forlorn,

Come and gone in the midst of my thought.

 

Now, She is gone again, though expected to return,

But this time, I fear, my dear lady friend,

That hope may be all for naught.

Reviews

[Natasha]

Ah, the memory.

What pretty words.
What a reach you have.
Plucking genius combinations as if from thin air.

It's almost endearing. Almost.

[Jacqueline]

I like the form of this poem.
Maybe breaks are a personal preference of mine.
But they work well for this one along with the three line stanzas.
Foreboding, indeed.
Haha, but it is well written.