The gentle calling of the winds orchestrated me
In a town where my memories of quietude are stored.
Poignant peace envelops my body
As no one saw the breeze play the A7 chord.
Affrighted was I when coldness–
Hit my back as I was force to reminisce.
A serenade of his made its way
Into my tympanum, sounds like light's array
Beautiful odes fill the room as he was–
Reciting the poem for me, he made.
This poet never envisage this as the last–
Poem his muse recites as he fade
The breeze turned tepid as this reverie
Ended and my breathing stopped
An illness caught by me, no remedy
The air suffocated my mind, awoken from my endless nap
YOU ARE READING
The Ballads Of The Wordsmith For His Poet
شِعرExaltation given by the muses of this Poet's sublime. As this poet escape the asylum he's been trapped, he'd find glory into writing epics and ballads. As the wind chimes, a knock of desperation escapes his everlasting pain.
