irony
There's great irony to be found in the fact that
you have to start a fire to save those precious seas,
and you can't even remember holding the ink
though it is stained all over your hands now - rather like bloodstains -
rather like the sun dropping behind the mountains
as it dies without a word.
Why write for blind eyes? Where are the songs of old?
The stars that used to sing to you,
the soft touch of joy...
The cool kiss of winter's handmaidens
of death
brought you more warmth than summer ever did.
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral Obscurity
Poetry❝I have never been myself as much as I have with you and all these words.❞ A beginner's attempt at poetry, exploring a few different forms and voices while trying to convey loss and beauty. Organized alphabetically, so feel free to read in what...
