If diction had pictures,
yours would be the face of caution.
Your name is me teetering on a cliff's edge.
When I accidentally draw to the surface how unmatched
in an epoch that is the make-up;
the meaning of star-crossed,
I'm wholly incapacitated.
It will always be our story;
yours weaving into mine, defining,
then re-defining a dreamscape of fallen lovers.
I wish I knew when or why it will come to pass
that we crash, for we will crash,
(creating a cataclysm of ruin like crater impact),
but it has never been by our design to know
more than what bleating anguish -- longing --
we feel at each fleeting, fading contact.
We are some cruel medley of gut-wrenching strength
and stalwart weakness to the other's unfurled heart.
Like you for me,
I am endlessly at the whim of one leaping breath
to becoming yours;
always only, always yours.
There has never been a sadder summer love
for it may never come to pass.
Poetry should, in my eyes, move a reader in some way, for better or worse. Either through content, style, structure or use of poetic tools like metaphors and alliteration.
This piece has all of the above and thoroughly moved me! An excellent poem. Well done.
I don't know how to approach this poem
I'm at a total loss. It is as if I stumbled across my daughter's diary and I read a page that both fascinated me & yet was entirely too intimate to bear.
Your ability to set your soul out to dry in public is astounding but so much braver than I am used to reading.