The scent of nostalgia comes to settle.
You sit callous, with ten empty fingers —
Your hair is like ten thousand rose petals .
An innocent face, discipline is bought —
Bought like a fine wine — the finest of fine.
You stare at the wall, silver eyes distraught;
Silver eyes give me life; to me they shine.
What is beauty but the loneliest soul?
Evermore we both search for elation—
We're prophets abaft the room, without goals,
Waiting for predetermined salvation.
You smile; I hold destiny by the hand.
Not until you're gone, fate I understand.
DannYetman
3 comments:
A beautiful piece.
i like the word "abaft" to start the poem ... sets out a nautical theme ... i was looking for more along that line. and then you repeat the word in the 11th line ... but i am not sure why.
an interesting piece, but somewhat cryptic
Smiles. (Hugs)Indigo
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