From Desolate Waves, Of A True Love's Death

As poet I cry out, nobody hears
yes, deep ingrained apathy I fear
for no other sad darkness so repels
as does indifference born from Hell.

From desolate waves, of spitting grey mists
arrives those terrors from misery's lists
fiery flames set to burn a weeping soul
into heartache abyss, death's tragic toll!

As poet I cry out, so few may see
majesty in even a long dead tree
or beauty in finely woven dark verse
born from a pure truth one did not rehearse.

From desolate waves, of a true love's death
comes grief that illuminates gasping breath
followed by epic dark, its coldest chills
knowing never again, comes love's sweet thrills.

Robert J. Lindley, 7-28-2019
Rhyme, ( From Tales Of Sorrows Are Born Dying Breaths )


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019