Christopher Thor Britt Poems

O’er the waters of time
My attention is quickly drawn
As Thought soars the heavens with
Memory at its side
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A summer’s walk on painted sand
Along the beach at night
The salty air may bring a chill
But your arms will hold me tight
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A raven, dark as sorrow’s dream
Sat perched upon a tree
His sable wings and golden eye
His gaze turned to the sea.
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Tears shred this helpless soul inside
Held back to hide the pain
Like iced blades, they cut the ties
And mock these many faces
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Chance the night, oh fragrant wind
Beckon to its drowsy calling
For ‘tis there she rises high
And in the morn’s seen falling
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Dead winds blow through the
Parlor door
Silently she screams
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Barely is man alive before
Death comes to claim his bride.
Thus betrothed we must abide
Less willing, the groom to meet
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Beauty vane, oh maiden’s bower
Though night be far, still far away
How chance thee fly in early hour
To seek the light of day?
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The waking world leaves me ne’r content
My sweet if there’s no place for you and I
To find ourselves, to love and ne’r repent
To live, to love, to dream, and then to die
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I see you fair in memory’s sweet abode
‘tis truly there with you I long to be
To touch again ‘fore daydream walls erode
Thy lips of red, o passion, mine to thee
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