Love:

Where cast a star too far from you to I?
The heavens, though in eternal rest, could not
Outlast the heart that called beyond the sky,
For spirits fade though love have never I forgot.
Yet may this tragic love, through hallowed night,
Be imaginative, as it is kind,
And guide us as shepherds to northern light
For, of the heart, what greater things to find?
Wind, if known of life, to us, may now bring
The chaos, known of love, though where it starts
Is of the snake of lore—deceitful stings—
Which is the potion to yet fall apart.
Tis not the greatest pain life so may send:
Mind and soul, but of love and of the end.

Countless

Countless:
Goodbyes
From bitter eyes,
Letters
Never sent,
Souls
To be forgotten,
Words
You never meant.

Countless:
Tears
From hollow years,
Heartaches
At the core,
Wishes
Cast aside,
Reflections
In mirrors.

Countless:
Memories
In the peripheries,
Eyes
Who’ve lost the spark,
Dreams
Now fallen nightmares,
Opportunities
Looking dark.

Countless:
Worry—
Life’s a hurry,
Regrets
I must confess,
Times
I feel I’m drowning,
Pain
I must address.

Countless:
Hopes
From the sages,
Years
Turned to ages,
Deaths
With final breaths,
Patience
Put to the test…

On and on,
I will contend,
When you start counting,
From the start,
You start
To wish there was an end.

Response to the prompt:
Countless

The Maiden of sweet death

In continuation to trying new poetry, I’ve tried my hand at a Triolet. It’s really fun and simplistic in form, yet still very meaningful. Let me know what you think.

To the maiden of sweet death: I knew
My life was not beyond me.
In the essence of her eyes, so true,
To the maiden of sweet death I knew,
In death, she promised life anew–
Though she had yet to call me.
To the maiden of sweet death, I knew,
My life was not beyond me.

Theater of the Sky

Dreadful night, paint the world a somber wave,
Storm the very heart of day,
Great legions wait upon their grave,
Content to death, as life, they say.

The cloaked knight, as all tonight,
March all as one, as shadows spawn,
To claim their thrown that sits at height.
Blades to knaves, their swords thus drawn.

Overtake the searing light of sun.
Oh Night! To perish, but once, and end;
Death, they wish, was more than one,
Their souls, eternal deaths, would send.

Moon of night, general to the tide,
As Sun to day, both seen as Gods.
Soldiers, by wave or ray, do ride
Ordained by fate to be at odds.

Imprisoned malice to be unveiled
At break of dawn to rise from hell.
Infernal rage from ships have sailed
Where Sun once stood, but now hath fell.

To taste the very worst of fear,
Is nothing of despair.
Pale shrieks the sun and moon did hear
But little did they care.

The torture of the heart to wait
On restless love, where love is dead,
Feigned love against a greater hate,
Is as a sword unto some thread.

Short-lived, it was, defeat and glory.
Evermore as bittersweet.
As yet the untold harrowed story,
Of love whose courage would not meet.

Of pride that never could submit
Or hope to find a way,
To gracious fall and to admit
The other his dismay.

Necessity for cautions sake
To wait as murder dwells.
From dreams to day, they could not wake,
To nightmare’s hunger so they fell.

Twas no less dreadful to my sight,
To watch such love as day and night.
No time to mourn, they say, for sorrow
As war awaits the day tomorrow.

But fate had planned what they did not:
So chance, as fire, did erupt.
From hearts, so hidden, they had sought
To that which courage rarely supped.

Sun, from prison’s hold, did slip away,
By the careless eyes of fortune’s throne.
This news was heard to Moon’s dismay—
His hellish passion then was grown.

Ignited by a frightful chase,
The tranquil night was shook awake;
It trembled from this frantic race
Whose finish judged for freedom’s sake.

At length, their bitter eyes did cast
Shadows from anguished hearts;
To meet alone at last—
Here, forever, so it starts.

From worlds apart, their blades did fall.
So too did night and day eclipse,
At end, both matched, began the call
For love and to each other’s lips.

So when time called, they, began adrift
As riders of the wind—a dove—
To cleanse their archaic rift,
To remember what it meant to love.

So it was of night and day.
Beholders of the inner-eye.
It is by Sun and moon, I may
Behold the Theater of the Sky.