We are as an empty tome,
you and I; From ransomed muse
whose echoed cries fear words sublime.
A feckless hope of reverie
for that which might our future be.
And now, sweet love, what good is it
To read from work untouched
by scrivener’s pen?
For love unrequited is but the same:
Our empty tome quiescent.
Author notes
A poem in the style of John Donne.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Emmm . .Emptiness can also be a sound box of the Lord
Hi Trumpet
Things I’ve read of yours seem rather sad of late, hope all is well – you have got to get in gear ready for the next Valentines Day . . it is not far off now and sad faces are out of order – LOL
Happy Chinese New Year
Albert
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