by Elizabeth M Nolan
You called me your dawn from yonder that breaks your darkest hour,
And here l sit in a sanquine state,
Awaiting my Aldebaran of the Skies,
Addictive discourse of allegiance,
And intentional allurement,
That threatens the very circle of my life.
Yet, my mind pursues the words to share forbidden
Dreams with my gallant knight,
Whose scintillating self,
So full of verse and song and virtue,
Captivates my once blithe heart,
for a handsome flower he,
Who possesses no thorns upon the rose,
Ah, but should l search within my heart and be the
Castigator of my own words and dreams?
Shall my promise of Fields of Gold and the smell of
Sweet Clematis be just a collage in our minds?
My compelling mind entices the languid questions,
To which the answers pierce my very soul
And are leaden with a legalistic commitment to the circle of
Shalll l drink from the river of Lethe?
A penitent to reave you from my heart and mind
For you brighten my sky at night, and l, your muse,
Always waiting to be your dawn.
Forgive me Sir Gawain, my hero, my poet, my confidant,
For l still miss you so.
Last updated June 07, 2011