Not very long ago, I used to think that poetry was all about "vague, generally incompatible expressions forced into a compromising situation along with some filler material". That was until ...
An Epiphany
I didn't know then.
Tis not the love that's unforgiven...
I becometh the sword which slays
Soon, my tender adolescence departs to mend its ways ...
The naivety shatters, the beauty boldly withers
As the river of clear spirit dries soon,
Only the night returns with the straying moon!
Can I wish ...
Ah! Let the prodigal tide return to it's home
The sea is bereft as the sun no more shone.
Your mirror reveals to you
the cinders of an irrevocable past.
Alas! you won't be mine.
No. No longer till the end of time.
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