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?

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

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