I asked my love, in shadows deep,
To stay with me, our promises to keep.
Do not go dark, my heart implores,
For in your light, my soul restores.
How gentle is love, like whispered sighs,
A melody that beneath the moonlight lies.
Yet anger creeps within our final breath,
As we face the cold embrace of death.
How best women and men depart,
In the dying light, a work of art.
They rage against the encroaching night,
A symphony of souls taking flight.
In the depth of darkness, they strive,
Dying against the odds, determined to survive.
My father, a beacon in the starry abyss,
Guiding me through life’s poignant bliss.
How we grieve in the silent night,
Wondering about love, a celestial light.
Blinding, yet tender, in its glorious might,
An eternal flame burning bright.
The night, a canvas for our sorrows,
Yet love persists, transcending tomorrows.
In the quiet hours, we find solace deep,
As memories of love in our hearts we keep.
:: 02.04.2024 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 