by A. V. Barber
Oh the light through cloud doth wither,
Upon these tears this shadow clings.
Yet moon in shine with silver slither,
Your hope my sword, your love my wings.
And for my heart, mourn not the morrow,
Of season past, these days in yearn.
While blaze this love, I know not sorrow,
Your kiss, your touch, your hold in turn.
Now sweet this crush, two lips in calling,
In twist with grace and brush while blow.
Then rise to heave as waves in falling,
As tide meet tide and passion flow.
Rapture stirred, in flame and burning,
Then whispered words so softly meet.
Beating hearts and gaze in turning,
The warmest smiles, so honey sweet.
Yet onward now these moments hither,
These ebbing sands while fools as kings.
Still the light through cloud doth wither,
Still these tears, and shadow clings.
A.V. Barber is a wonderful writer. Find more of his work here: http://avbarber.wordpress.com/about-me/