Under The Map of Stars
When shadows and light play
As embers and char would,
I see where we meet.
In the stolen quiet,
In flashes of gold-streaked gray,
Under the map of stars
In the countdown to morning,
When the world is still
Except for the matching beats
Of our hurrying hearts.
I wish to have no secret
That your name be a hymn,
Escaping my lips
When I escape for a moment.
I wish to see the blue above us
Cast over our touching heads.
Yet the morning dew has laid claim
To the damp earth beside me
Where in the eve you have lain.
Instead of gratitude,
I loathe the light in its glaring clarity
Showing me without pause or mercy
The empty space beside me
Cold, stark and void,
A haunting in daylight
Until night falls again.
-N. Tippett, 2013
It's been ages since I wrote poetry. I didn't think I could anymore.
I'm thinking of star-crossed lovers, of the desperate and in love. They make the best romantic tragedies, and the most humorless comedies, the most wistful of poems.
No comments
Post a Comment