Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

A Desperate Yearning

T'was on a morn as this

whence a lemon hue,

filtered through graceful boughs,

sculpted a view of breath denying

beauty and my ardor did arouse

Within my chest didst envy grow

when at my behest thine eyes said no

in thy heart there dwelt another

my beseeching could not smother

the blow was dealt, I turned my face to go

When I harkened to a sound

a melodic tintinnabulation

which emitted a sensation

that plucked desire from my soul

bequeathing hope new found

Thine own soul's windows

revealing the anguish of hunger's need

denied by a delusional misread

wistfully seeking another's haven

and the succor it might disclose

My very life wouldst I submit

wert I to gain thy benevolence

and fail to afford deliverance