Port Wine

O my dear sadness, where art thou?

How may I pen this without your vow?

Love ceases all my flourishing words,

and spring has crippled my artful slurs.

Am I intoxicated? Aren’t I bewitched?

With certainty I sense my heart being twitched.

This glass of port, my hopeful gaze,

Yet I cannot penetrate my thoughtful haze. 

O my dearest friend! O my earthly heart!

How shall I explore this misty park?

My beauty brews out of the darkest despair,

So dearest, please forgive my notes so bare.

The curse of freedom I do not evade,

yet how my fears still haunt my fate.

Though I have learned to embrace the dice,

Still I am stunned by the blinding lights.

O what else for me would bear any colour,

now that you have appeared in my parlour?

Thus must I with certitude fall,

into your beauty behind a velvet wall?

The finale resolves with a perfect cadence,

no more shall I wander about my frosty fence.

What beauty of life may my story bear,

if not with you shared for my mortal years?

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Published in: on 19/01/2017 at 12:47 AM  Leave a Comment  

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