Imagine if we could go back in time,
to the moment where the familiar sun gave the once unfamiliar hope.
It need not be at the behest of poetic soliloquy to mime,
How old wounds brave the test of time.
For if we could go back to cure our depression,
Would you still go through the pain and call it passion?
Or would you freeze time just before she got sad?
But this time you surprise her in a manner most grand?
When you tell her time has passed the test,
With flying colours far and wide,
Paving the way in this forsaken labyrinthine.
I never thought I'd live to see this day,
when I would pick up my aged pen and to God I pray;
"Dear Lord, give me the strength to live long, but not happy"
For as long as I have her I will always be merry.
Now I write once more of this feverish passion,
That men call love; except it now comes with a lesson:
"Hold on tight to the fabric of belief,
as long as you do, in her glee you'll find wondrous relief."
It's been long since I last paid tribute at the shrine of Poesy,
And write about my joy and mirth, and not my worry.
I find myself with a renewed sense of belief,
Every moment with her is yet another happy memory.
Alas this pen is once more mightier than any sword,
As you inspire within me words that can win a thousand hearts, and rule a million hoards.
YOU ARE READING
A Journal for my Beloved - An Anthology
ŞiirA collection of poems inspired by the honey-heavy dews of joy and love, as poems occasionally invite the reader to contemplate the wisdom behind the existence of pain, the seduction of nostalgia and our desire to feel complete.
