The Sorrow Bittersweet|
by Lannie Brockstein (2013).
I am laying on my bed. My grandfather's storm clouds are slithering on their dark grey bellies, miles above where they can be heard by no human form.
© 2013 Lannie Brockstein. All Rights Reserved.
I switch to my side, and see the solitary flame of a tearful candle; hours ago, 'twas blinking with brilliance.
Its trunk was once trenched with her initials. Now, its steadfast glow quietly dances upon the crumbled ledge of my open window. It is staring at me. I am staring at it.
Outside, if I were to care to look,and I do care to lookI can see the well-worn silhouette of a wooden neighbour, raking together a pile of stranded melodies.
For how long must the rain hesitate? The blushing solace of a bright star has not yet swum into the morale of my fear, of my failureto forgive whatever it was that I did or did not do,that She may splash a blessing upon my soul, with Her intuitive waves of farsighted light.
Ah, this is such bliss! It is pure joy to sit here, whilst my heart stands ever so alone,forsaken, in a memory which she has forgotten,crying tears of lemons, with nobody that it might turn to, save for my miserable self which is under the weight of this country's spiritless century.
May we take care to wish forth many a sweetly hopeful prayer, and bathe in the prophetical messages which shine from the Creator's empyreal kingdomHis celestial beings and their corresponding things,those of the kind that grief-stricken guests at a state funeral rarely inquire about.
May we do this, before the fire gives out.
• • • • •Dearest Romantic, to purchase a poster of this poem, kindly click HERE• • • • •