The night is full of abstractions
Behind her veil both oracle and daemon
The funereal march of my heart thwarts
All extrinsic panic, there is only my fidelity
Which has become itself a form of illness
If only my beloved would behold me
Seen through his eyes, I would be sated
*
My tears coalescence with the stars
How oft the same prayer forsaken?
Not a moment more can I give
To this cruel, tasteless world
And not to you either my darling
Let the rushing water purify
What your hands and lips disparaged
If not my life than let my death
Weigh upon your consciousness
Let it be known that I was
And ever will be yours
*
By morning the doves will have risen
Pale and histrionic, baring my soul
To places where no one else may follow
I may not find peace only your face etched in fire
But a nightmare is far better than a fruitless dream
mindlovemisery 
You should read my poem Searching O. Hunt. It has a similar subject.
Thank you =) I read one of your poems recently you have awesome style!
Like this, there are touches of a tragedian song of songs to it, it flows very well. Thank you for your comments on ‘Blue’.
Thank you very much =)
Well done. The last line is a zinger! Nice.
Thank you =)
Reblogged this on mindlovemisery.
Perfectly brilliant!! The bard would be proud to have inspired such verse! 🙂 🙂
Thanks Helen!
Very powerfull opening, with this one it feels like each sentence is a poem for itself.
That is so sweet XD