Bard’s Tale of a Single Kiss



What tales can the old bard tell with golden harp and silver strings of a deed of a single kiss?

For how many stories can he flatter with that of a young lovesick fool who had his heart stolen with such a small device?

A kiss, a single kiss with that crimson rose ad dagger thorns, lush and warm, so dark and yet so abiding.

It is the symbol of a passion-torn soul, with heart well weighed like an old smith who has spent more hours with his ale then with son.

The bard could give so much credit to the kiss that caused a war, which drew a river from blood lust’s meager.

Then could he sing of how I long for that single kiss, like whine so sweet, yet so bitter when waking the following morn.

So much meaning packed to the brim in the smallest package, with the tightest seal.

Yet, how it lingers on your lips, floats there, defies time by which we all are bound.
While it beholds yet the power that you may alter your path you are on, based upon a lone embrace that changes who you are.

unique write..i like it

Thank u very much, it is suppose to sound lyrical, like a song. That is the concept of the bard :)