A POET WITHOUT LOVE

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Submitted Date 09/16/2018
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Geniues fails to find the words I

Wish for. Slow the tongue to form my

Plainest sentiments; the Muse is

Shriveled; silent are the voices

Gushing with my music. Rather,

I hear branches bare that clatter

From the wind in winter's night: they

Clash with cruelest cracking; day may

Never friend the darkened bones of

Song. A poet without love. If

Love lacks food, how can it live? And

If the song lack love, what then? End

Of it all, perhaps, unless it

Turns to howling in the gloom, lit

Only by the hope within the 

Moon. But I have my manna.

Holy fire lends me sleep, when

Such a chill attempts to frighten

Me at night; the words inhuman

Soothe my searchless mind. A woman

Sings a wordless song, and lovely

Are the hands that spoke so softly.

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  • tmarion 6 months ago

    This is beautiful, Catherine.