MY BOOK OF POETRY

From one poet to another <3

At Night when Frost upon the Pane

Has etched its Silver Spell

I reach for Ghosts of Words again

My Book, I know it well

When Silence like a Hollow Wing

Sweeps through the Lonesome Air

She comes upon a whispering Thing

A Comfort, Always There!

No Mortal Friend nor Fortune’s Call

Could keep nor Could remain

They fled like Echoes through the Hall

But She: She did sustain.

They say the Poet’s Song would cease

That Words no longer Free

Would Fade like Summer’s Parting Breeze

Yet She remembers Me!

I wandered where the Ladders break

And Sorrow built my Home

Yet in my Palm Her Pages Wake

A Lighthouse strung with Bone

She keeps my Pulse when Time would Thieve

My Shadow Bound in Leaf

And when I go She will not Grieve

She lives Beyond my Grief

For since this Ephemeral Refrain

My Book has sung to Me

Through Ruin, Glory, Loss, and Gain

She hums Eternally.

:: 02.08.2024 ::

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

Poetry is good therapy. Usually. Especially when we look back on our past entries into the journal. Ha... sometimes, it's a struggle to hold ourselves accountable.

Well done, I think you made a good point rather playfully. And dare I say poetically?