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Thursday, February 6, 2014


Without form the mist falls
embracing memories from the halls
caressing this night of trees
setting to dance the ball room of leaves
wind songs offering whispered phantoms
answers to life’s unspoken questions
Sol and Luna never to know

The darkness and fires that burn within,
each morn, leave dew
on the conversation
between old gods and new.
Smooth the edges of the broken pieces
of the chalice of mankind.

As I sit in sorrow
pondering what could be
in the stead of what was,
Luna beams through the darkness of dreams.
It is here that my Mary appears in lace.
What lovely features has she;
shadows of ebony adorn ivory skin
like love etched with caressing kisses.
My apparition comes close.

I long to reach out,
but Percy’s words are adrift
quelling the fires of passion.
Desire will hide in the rain
and fall to the earth to find shelter
and flow to the seas of madness.

Oh Mary, Oh Mary
your Byron seeks not to destroy
only to gaze upon your beauty
to write of love’s sweet joy.
Attend me in lace
as my quill will dance
to attest the existence
of your gentle grace.

Concept: Nov 11, 2013
Completion © Feb 6,  2014 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

NOTE: my thoughts on what George Gordon might have written for Mary Wollstonecraft.

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