<img src="http://riddlenow.com/r104.jpg">

This would be perfect as a song!

Being a song is this poem's destiny, I already feel like I've heard it before!

Great work

Thank you, Kim!

Original: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendID=401349381

20081114

Tonight I write, heavyhearted.

For instance, I can write:"The night sky is filled with stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

Tonight's breeze whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the most morbid poem tonight.
I loved her. Now and again she loved me, too.

On evenings like this, I held her in my arms.
I caressed her many nights under the infinite sky.

Her epochal love, my love evermore.
How could I not love her grandiose, tranquil eyes?

I can write the dourest poem this eve.
To think I no longer compass her heart.
To feel that I have lost her.
So cast-away.

To hear this immense night, massively immense without her.
The poem falls to my soul as dew to grass.

What does it signify that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is rich with stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Beyond the horizon, someone sings. Far away.
My shadow wayward in her absence.

As if to draw her to quarters, my eyes quest for her.
My heart pursues her and she is not with me.

The very eve that etoliates the perpetual trees.
We, we who ere, we are the same no longer.

Nevertheless, true, how much I love her.
My roar journeys the cyclone to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she ere befitted my kisses.
Her harmony, her lithe chassis. her infinite eyes.

Mine nevermore, true, but perchance I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Whereas on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Much as this may be the last misery she induces,
this may be the last poem I indite for her.