The Shadow Waits

What shade is a bitter heart?
A man in sour mood, broken over
Healed how? Water poured on ancient wound?
Alas, mine is the sort of solid pain
A man doomed, nay consumed
Vainly with her quiet stubborn prose
Alas when and why did I come to love
This witty, shy and stubborn woman so?
The shade of my heart is her emery hair
The wound healed by her cinnemon stare
And so I am here for her, the shadow
Waiting the return of his lady

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2 comments on “The Shadow Waits

  1. Time after time,
    line for line,
    I grow weary
    My patience thin
    Like ice in winter
    The cold pain splinters
    Into my soul of glass
    I grow weary
    How I tire of these words
    Empty, left unheard
    Nay unheeded
    For sake of heart beholden
    I dare not chase the stars
    For it only leaves bitter scars
    Nay I chase the troubled moon
    Still I grow weary
    For the troubled moon
    Does not rise at high noon
    Nor does she recognise the sea
    Yes weary it isn’t me…

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  2. You give a man no credit to bear burdens deep
    Agony I have bared to you and all
    Simple and so ever sweet
    Alas would you think men to be weak?
    Is weakness that I sigh “poor Sora.”
    After I swore not to use her name…
    Or weak that I tell you I wish you joy?
    All is and all the same
    I say again you give no credit men
    Nor to him, nor me the bard to say
    We are weak in mental state
    When my hearts such stress on plate
    And here I pray each say your burden
    That I might find way to take
    And carry it on wing
    Ne’er mind that my own song
    I must attend while I start T again
    And on top 2 midterms
    And 2 teen children who must learn
    Yet here I am at page to console
    Princess, dear… weak? I think not so

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