The Courtier’s Sighs

The Courtier’s Sighs


By a silver stream she knelt
-waiting- watching streaks of life
meander by wantonly.

“If life were to be a patch,
beautifully missed
once swum by;
a mote on the brink
of Forgotten Time’s crease
once I sigh.
Might I be bereaved,
or should I conceive?”

Hollow pine trees sing a tune
of shared concordance
-as do I-
for she reflects my inner mind.

“Burgeoning odyssey manifests
crippled dreams of hope;
dashed hopes of faith,
lacerating my heart.
Might I form a fort,
or better,
piece a pervious film?”

She shall find peace if ever
the world were to rest
beneath falsified superficiality.
(Into a realm of impossibility)

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