The silken cloak adorns your face
Though fraying at the seams
Beneath your eyes so boldly traced
A paradox of sullen dreams
In tongues we speak
At day we sleep
The summer night stands still
Your whispered kiss
My wintered soul
Your broken beauty makes me whole
So take my heart to mend your own
Your madness frees my mind
Let me taste your tragedy
The numbers never cease
Shallow passion piercing deep
Your halo, dear, is mine to keep
I like the first and second stanzas very much. You keep just enough rhyme for your expressions to be filled out and not be left lacking.
I'm afraid that I couldn't grasp the meaning of the number's line, but I know you have assigned it meaning. Limited audience isn't a bad thing in a poem, just... something poets can sometimes find unfortunate.
I'm afraid that I couldn't grasp the meaning of the number's line, but I know you have assigned it meaning. Limited audience isn't a bad thing in a poem, just... something poets can sometimes find unfortunate.