drumass04
04-26-2006, 03:39 PM
Here is this evening's work, I think I'm finally getting back into writing again :)
Some may find the meaning a little obscure like with the last one, but I do think this is better. Maybe not, I'm biased!
Where Nature lives, Love cannot
As the lark sings its morning trill,
Lovers depart, with the night sentinel behind.
The sun rises, floating beyond a winter zenith.
Behind oaken doors, soft and silken,
Obscenities hide. Watch them run
Through doors ajar, some crawl
Across open terraces to the lakes.
Where, Forbidden lovers wait.
*
The Heron, Sheikh of the waters,
Twitched his head as sunlight poured,
The sky’s image across his friendless pool.
Then, perched upon his rocks
With an ochre bill. Disturbing the scurrying
Of bounteous clouds and endless skies.
They began to come.
*
His love torn alcove, alive with song,
And sonnets by relentless lovers resting.
Until shadows begin to grow, and the night sentinel
Guided the way again. Retreat,
Enchanted friends.
Where again, frolicking in the late night mist,
They’d be called,
Back to poor Heron’s abode in the forest pond.
By which,
Forbidden lovers wait.
Tim Peacock
©2006
26/04/06
Thanks for any help :)
Timmy P
Some may find the meaning a little obscure like with the last one, but I do think this is better. Maybe not, I'm biased!
Where Nature lives, Love cannot
As the lark sings its morning trill,
Lovers depart, with the night sentinel behind.
The sun rises, floating beyond a winter zenith.
Behind oaken doors, soft and silken,
Obscenities hide. Watch them run
Through doors ajar, some crawl
Across open terraces to the lakes.
Where, Forbidden lovers wait.
*
The Heron, Sheikh of the waters,
Twitched his head as sunlight poured,
The sky’s image across his friendless pool.
Then, perched upon his rocks
With an ochre bill. Disturbing the scurrying
Of bounteous clouds and endless skies.
They began to come.
*
His love torn alcove, alive with song,
And sonnets by relentless lovers resting.
Until shadows begin to grow, and the night sentinel
Guided the way again. Retreat,
Enchanted friends.
Where again, frolicking in the late night mist,
They’d be called,
Back to poor Heron’s abode in the forest pond.
By which,
Forbidden lovers wait.
Tim Peacock
©2006
26/04/06
Thanks for any help :)
Timmy P