Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

 

Writing with my soul's dark ink

Words quicker than I think,

Molten flowing thoughts reveal,

A way for poet's heart to heal...

Not sugar sweet nor honey gold

But mere honest words are told,

The secrets buried deep inside,

That love demands I shall not hide.

Stolen glances, pounding heart

The distance that keeps us apart,

The need to see, and touch, and kiss

The needs and wants that we two miss.

Fingers that reach but cannot find

The body hid somewhere behind

Land and oh, the endless sea

Which ever flows twixt her and me.

The laughter that should loud resound,

The oaths by which we should be bound,

The whispers passed by candlelight

Lovers entwined by dark of night.

No ink, no words, can touch the skin.

This separation is a sin.

But, perhaps, these words find grace,

Somehow take my missing place.

Your whispered name upon my lips,

Your phantom at my fingertips.

These poor words all I can give,

And love as long as I shall live.

Ink will fade and paper crumble

But, these words, sincere though humble,

Pressed to your breast, to beating heart,

May cross the distance we're apart.

Copyright December 23, 2023 by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: donovan baldwin, love, love poem, poetry, sad

By Donovan Baldwin

"We cannot find the singer.
We've searched and all agree.
He's gone, his cloak on river bank
His lyre beside a tree."

One by one they nodded, said,
"His recent songs were sad,
But once they kept us dancing,
Full of life, so warm and glad."

They never knew the sorrow,
That the singer bore within,
The sad dreams that beset him,
Not betrayed by happy grin.

Year by year the darkness grew
His Muse dimmed and went away,
Light and color faded slowly
Til he only saw in gray.

Still he sang for other's gladness,
As his happiness grew dim,
Hastened by the knowledge,
That no one sang for him.

Then came the day the singer
No longer could be found,
Just his lyre beside a tree,
His coat upon the ground.

If you enjoy a singer's song,
Accept it and be glad.
Just remember that the singer's heart,
Might within be foul and bad.

One thing that may give happiness,
To a soul that's growing dim,
Is knowing that somewhere someone,
May sing a song for him.

Copyright Donovan A. Baldwin, Jr 10/7/2016

Find more poems and articles by this author at Ravensong.mysite.com

Labels: donovan baldwin, original poem, poem, poet, poetry, sad, singer