Hello all, Its been a while since I was here posting some new material ( Last time I think I was still a Lord of death
)
This Poem I made for Turwaithiel originally, but I decided to put it on, to see what feedback I got.
Enjoy
As the pale moon in her majesty,
Blazed cold to illuminate earth’s night,
A young man, he climbed a tree,
To meet his lady, a maiden bright.
A blacksmith by trade, to a great Lord,
He heard a noise of women’s laughter,
“Such loveliness, should not be locked in hoard,”
Thought he, of the lords only daughter.
And as he approaches the casement grand,
He checks around, ensures he is alone,
And he holds within his right hand,
A gift for his lady, and in his left a small stone.
He throws the stone at the misted glass,
And all sounds stop, a latch is lifted,
And in the night, only the winds him pass,
And on a nearby river pale blossoms have drifted.
A figure of a woman stands at the casement,
Like a figure out of legend, like to Helen of Troy,
Her beauty still holds the man in sheer amazement,
She recognises him, and smiles so coy.
He climbs up some wall spanning Vines,
Then reaches her, and fierce is their embrace,
His hand holds a ring, made of gold from the mines,
A beautiful thing,yet to him not even close to rivalling her grace.
They talk and talk for hours and hours,
And he pledged his hearts feelings would not move,
And crowned her hair with golden flowers,
And gave her the ring as a symbol of his perpetual love.
As the sun spilled her light o’er the land,
The smith arose and his hand along her cheek did glide,
He gently, lovingly kissed her graceful hand,
And smiled, as they would repeat this next eventide.
Poetry is definitely your forte, Lamenter, so keep on writing. I'd love to see more from you.