Moonrise

Two more months have passed, a pair to cast
Upon the pile of others, some with her in sight,
And some, like these which just have ended,
In which she could not be seen. A dawn
Of sorts when she came into view, or was it
More a moonrise, given that her lovely face
Is pale, her silence haunting, our encounter
Not a bright beginning, but the latest episode
Of our unending end? Yet, wait! When she
Returned to me to ask me something utterly
Mundane, she smiled, and, later on, she spoke
Again quite carefully, suggesting, though not
Truly saying, she was glad to see me back.
I love her still. I like her near. I wish that what
Keeps her away would dissipate, and we could
Come together as we did before, and, doing so,
Fan up our fire from its current cooling coals
Into a hotter open flame which could consume
That pile of months which were endured,
Then cast aside.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 79 times
Written on 2017-07-05 at 13:13

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I think that her gesture was grand, and she is offering an olive branch to you, but the days of romantic love have to move to become a beautiful memory that is hard to shake off. I enjoyed reading this poem.
Ashe
2017-07-05


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Bravo!
Ken
2017-07-05