Songs of the Eventide

Where waves upon the shores may crash,
The beach has sung with ghosts.
Amidst the ship’s now scattered ash,
The winds shall howl ripostes.

The trees, they sway, with hallowed gales,
Where winds to dead are called,
In time to Luna’s final wails,
Her nocturne’s breath enthralled.

Her shadowed hands enlighten moors,
For dances claim her heart,
While sorrows drown her fading doors,
As quiet love departs…

With tears now dry upon her face,
The moon has long since died,
For lovers fell to her embrace,
That fateful eventide.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The rocks upon the shores, they sing,
Of hope’s unending faith;
In tune with the eternal spring,
Within her soul, dismayed.

The coast, it breathes, it is their life,
These lovers of the seas,
The quiet groom without his wife,
Who sings unto the breeze,

And so it is she’d walk this shore
Alone in search of him.
But daylight lies with tales of yore
While dusk would find his hymn.

She sighs in want of his return
But knows this cannot be,
For love was held in hands now burned,
Now gone, eternally.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

A fallen soul in thirst, he begs,
Immortal chains have bound,
As ghostly tears near powder-kegs
Ignite the angst he’d found,

The subtle grip upon his heart,
The mourning song he cries,
His love he sees, but can’t impart
A touch from sullen skies.

His breath is caught, for within view
Of darkened emerald green,
Her eyes, they shine in splendored hues,
Beyond what hope he’s seen.

For Fate would deem that when she sleeps
He could be freed to roam;
From dusk to morn he walks the beach
And sings to tidal foam…

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

A requiem for him was writ
Within the stars’ own rhyme;
The poet and the painter sit
To save him from his crime.

Perhaps if they could change the end
Her tears would fall no more,
Or maybe Fate would dare suspend
His fated ties to lore.

If only for a moment’s peace,
If only writ in tale,
These lovers finally released
From Fate’s infernal wails.

A final dance of hope and love
A painter’s brush will show;
A final song of grace above
A poet’s word shall know.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s