by David Martin
A romantic poem articulating emotion in rough, iambic pentameter.
What am I longing for?
A place for my heart to stay, during a downpour;
For words to express feeling,
Where Trite in utmost strength fails in healing.
Is this the face that shows such utmost care?
Where men’s hearts and eyes proclaim it most unfair.
I describe a lady in words of what is true;
it fails to bring out justice without milieu
Since diction lacks Emotion’s genuine clue.
The hours spent, found wanting in desperate hope
I find my power wanes and struggle to cope.
How this moment refreshes of what is known,
That person to me, whom life has thrown,
And fate increased the height of oneness grown.
These words attempt at something unbeknown,
That states the backdrop of our undertow;
this length of bond of late that we have sown,
In time unraveling as yet is to be known.
With high regard I look to the coming future
Two hearts entwined within consistent nurture.
My wonting heart will tend to stay in shame,
The inconsistent tempo for the blame;
All I offer is my word to take,
Without fear succumb the soul to wake
A contract bound unlikely ever break.
I beg your pardon for the previous note,
I seem uncannily uncertain in what I wrote;
Its affect stems straight from that abysmal fear,
To Abhor the loss of what I claim as dear.
As long as men can yearn, and hearts will seep
I pray that only mine you intend to keep.