If I had ten more minutes
and my voice was not faint
nor my face so devoid
or my mind so blank,
I would profess—
But I'm afraid of words
which might betray lips,
For what is kept
is of my eyes—
that impulsive organ
I've attempted to stray;
hooded, hazed.
Construing a montage
ever playing:
concerns, worries
fears, and doubts,
Come to life
in bursting light
whilst straining in the dark.
And if such creations
could speak—
or better
could be heard—
through the mist of passion
And masks of pride,
I would profess
All in my heart;
Every quaint murmur
Forsaken night and night.
amazing. I aspire to write like you someday. The words flow on the page(or screen) . Loved it.
Something of a Shakespere sonnet here. I know it's not in sonnet form but it feels so lyrical and smooth. It has a beautiful flowing line. Thanks for sharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a great poem. really well writen