There's little now but brittle bones
That once were furnace wrought;
I do not swim, but sink like stone
And choke on love I sought.
The daffodils all bloom too soon -
The grass is mocked by weeds -
The blackbird flings a listless tune
That's taken by the breeze.
I stumble on the moors we walked,
Where once we danced and laughed;
I cry on cliffs where once we talked -
Now every rock is marred.
And in the eve, when moonshine comes,
I hear the rooks and blasted crows;
They caw a noise that leaves undone
A love weaved from adagios.
Ben Pickard 2019
*adagio - a composition played in adagio tempo (slowly and gracefully)
Line by line the poem gets deeper. It feels like you are slowly trying to make your way up a mountain, trying to reach the peak ( which is the love you seek) but instead of getting closer the night falls and it becomes dark (further away).
I really am feeling so much sadness in your latest poems. You have magical way with words you convey emotions so well!!