My mister's eyes are but a somber moon.
Coral ebbs as if his skin.
And yet although his cheeks be rosy,
No roses are worthy of his sin.
A perfume is but ill compare,
For in him reeks a sweetened smell.
And as for music, his voice is rare
To ease the drones of promised hell.
An ancient God does pass as he,
Does tread along his handsome head.
Just as a cloud does pass the sea,
I dream my mister tread.
And without sight, his soul I see
Ambrosia to my faceless plea
What did you think
Comments
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a good poem though with form poetry there is usally a beat involved too, not just the fourteen lines but ever syllable in every line is counted - some say iambic p but that is not somehting i personally agree with but i do think some sort of beat has to be used.
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