Poems by Parvini the level 38 Bard

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In Contemplation of Love

Twelve noon, the sea is in

When we left our safe little sea-side town
Still wrapped in the fervour of Love’s embrace,
Where the white horse always came crashing down
Only to succumb to Compassion’s grace.
See the mild ripples in the aftermath,
Hear how their story shall never be told:
Nights have traded many a tear and laugh,
But lovers always have something to hold;
Their laughter echoes from the moon-lit sea
Though it is lost under the fold of waves.
And while we dreamed there in our sanctity,
In our sea-side town with its haven caves,
Who’d ever believe that it would be like this?
Solitude corrodes like an empty kiss.

Twelve midnight, the sea is out

It rains all day and most the night,
The snaking wind does carve its flight
Through bankrupt trees of Winter’s thrill.
It carries sparrows’ songs so shrill
O’er early morning’s darkened haze;
A heat incurred, devoid of praise,
Steams up the glass with passions mild,
By hearts unwrapped, by Time defiled.
The flame of ardour rages on
Its yearning fuel is all but gone,
The last few embers waft away,
They burn all night and most the day.

NP

The Song of the Knave

The knave he sings of graves and things,
Of brave old kings and caves of rings
But hark his mood, the darkest brood -
A bark imbued with stark, brown hues.
Heard much have we of such a tree
The hutched up plea of butchery.
Of war and peace, on tours of grief
We scored our sleep on cores so deep.
We paid our way through raider’s bay
We made our stay on th’blades of day.

The fight doth hum - the night it comes,
And mighty sun and light o’erruns
The pale blue moon, a frail new tune
To gales that swoon o’er vales and dunes.
That shines like bliss, the finest kiss,
(How th’rhymèd fist snapped Time’s weak wrist)
But then it came again the rain,
I penned my name in dens of pain.
It endeth there we’re friends who share
A mended tear, the tend’rest care.

NP

After the Summer Birds”

After the summer birds have flown
And winter leaves you quite alone
To pick up the last shards of bone
That the bleak skeleton of Love did leave.

Solitude pierces like thorns
And when you’re helplessly forlorn,
Your mind and heart wrecked and torn,
From all the torture feasibly conceived.

Then you could see how I exist
Like Love’s last loathsome activist
Who’s laid his plaque, unclenched his fist
And sailed the Sea of Hope wholly bereaved.

There he sits on decks of decay
With not a soul coming his way
To perceive what he must convey:
The intense feelings that words cannot weave.

The sun can’t shine, it always rains,
“My heart’s in the Highlands” with pain,
With doubt, with passion, with your name,
With emptiness until I am reprieved.

NP

 

Yes they are mine sir, the iambic pentameter and strict syllabic structure at use there may have given some of them an air of familiarity. I write alot of poetry just thought that these were the most suited for this board.

 

I liked the Knave one. Excellent work.