literature

To My Unborn Lover

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By
Leurindal
Published:
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Literature Text

To My Unborn Lover

You may well be out there, somewhere;
a soul as yet bereft of flesh -
drifting wanly in the aether,
not entrapped within the mesh
of quiet pining and despair.

You would somehow comprehend –
this lonesome passion for fair words;
this ceaseless need to conjure worlds
at the sharp end of a quill;
these petty tries to flee the wraiths
that do terrify me still.

We might not meet for some time –
that's the way love stories go.
We shall linger far apart,
writing poems, finding rhymes;
watching winters come and go
and weave their trails into our hearts.


But when at last our paths do cross,
we'll kiss goodbye with grim austerity.
That day I'll will my verse to you:
"These weathered lines, embalmed in moss,
are all I offer to posterity."
I allowed myself to turn back to fixed-form in this one.

I'd like the last lines of this poem to be my epitaph, some day :)
© 2010 - 2024 Leurindal
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avfc4me's avatar
avfc4me
In less-skilled hands, the old forms would seem trite and...oh, sappy, I guess. But for the most part, you do them justice, and I get a kick out of seeing what you put up. It's the Poet that Time forgot...