Pining for warmth, gentle heat
rhythmic breaths in sync with heart beat,
a craving to tenderly soothe,
for you, an elixir of immaculate youth
when a blindfold made,
of love, for gloom a trade
and of darkness hath clamped
with an unwavering, steady grip
an elaborate epiphany I can't skip,
unto a completely unsuspecting
reluctant and hesitating
yet an unyielding me,
however meant to be
is sombre, yet futile.
Devilish doubt plagues me so,
Deliver me from a plight of woe,
for I ponder about your
grimly intangible presence.
In your melancholy absence
I am nothing but a mere
tenebrous, dull, gloomy moon
in rapidly running out time,
without the sure and sublime
omnipresent, glorious sun.
I am, but reduced to one
reliant, yet Cupid-struck,
one with unfortunate luck
An eternal albeit forsaken
a nexus of passions so misshapen
a miserable acolyte, with
our rendezvous, a tempting myth
of you, the shimmering star
for whom I wage perpetual war
and I, the unlit, dim planet
our destinies perdurably set,
however forever imprisoned
in this surely impregnable
indestructible, unchangeable
one of unbreakable penitentiaries
a tale unforgotten for centuries,
of what they call a p h e l i o n.
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aphelion (n) (astronomy) : The point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid or comet when it is farthest from the sun.
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Поэзия#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016