Low Tide
“I dwelt alone in a world of moan, and my soul was a stagnant tide…”
Edgar A. Poe
Stagnant Tide
For the sun never sets without bringing regrets:
Her last breath, a small sigh, parted lips, two cold hands
In my grasp as pale shade of pure white in her face,
The personification of angel commands,
That our memory live to renew, no disgrace:
For the moon never hides without changing the tides.
For the sun never shines without bringing me lines:
Her sweet voice, a loud echo my soul now obeys.
The non-linear, vinegar, rational mind
Quickly spits out like poison. She seeks more delays
As her soul’s true desire only time will rewind;
For the moon never wanes without bringing refrains:
For the sun never sets without bringing regrets;
Her soft lavender scent, a pale purple perfume,
A light feminine presence, still mother of pearl,
To awaken a memory sealed like a tomb:
A love story repeated by boy and sick girl,
For the moon never hides without changing the tides.
For the sun never shines without bringing me lines:
Her sad eyes, red from crying, avert intense glare
Of my stare while denying the truth in her heart:
That some men only dream like the meek without flair
While the weak soon despair about passion in art.
For the moon never wanes without bringing refrains:
For the sun never sets without bringing regrets
As the darkness invades the both wicked and just.
Her reclaimed shallow breath, an inhale and exhale
Of no faith in our love, with all doubt and no trust
In benevolent God who condemns none to Hell,
For the moon never hides without changing the tides!