If the night is that which your chest's foretold
Then let me surrender to it with all that I behold.
My undoubted saviour, t'is you that I seek
And in swarthy waves I found you - holding one so weak.
How do I speak when my tongue is stiff?
How do I touch when my body's limp?
Let us drown in silence, for words - they do not speak;
Silence withholds no screams, no shrieks...
Save love; Weary arms and this - your heartbeat.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Foretold by Sashka Salvatore )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(22 July 1849 – 19 November 1887)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(November 9 - 1937)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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