How dreary the night

I curse the more of moonlit morrows
that find you distant from my view,
far worse–the lure of slumbers sorrows
that bind my dreams reserved for you.

Confusion casts its shadow daunting,
a query of malice I entertain,
illusions last with each new haunting,
how dreary the night that deems me sane.

Amiss is comfort now in going
to die a thousand deaths away,
to kiss the brow of pain is knowing
that I will wake another day.




Poetry by kenneth wertz
Read 557 times
Written on 2007-03-03 at 22:43

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Doreen Cavazza
This is very Shakespearean. I like the haunted, sorrowful feel of this. This is very good.
2011-01-16