Lover's Mourn


Unto mistakes doth my love rove

but happily doth she roam

ahh... but could she only realize

one mistake could be avoided

or countless cured by but one action

and tho I hope every night and day

patience be not virtue but torture

for love's sweet grasp be denied

and the soul's mate forsaken.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Somehow my old poetry has relevence to current life, unnervingly so

View asherivers's Full Portfolio
alwalclif's picture

I like your poem. It has an old style feel to it. It touches the ancient ways with its wording. Good poem well written, keep up the good work.