Among the Misty Grass.
Many days have been dark and dismal
clouds shrouded in blackness floating around
like dropping ink on my paper
where the depths of my soul
is submerged in softly howling sorrows.
The sweet dream I had won’t ever return
only a constant drumming sound
a noise, interrupting my activity
filled with a desolate melancholy
in a numb despair.
And, You are not here, and although You are,
more handsome, more sophisticated than ever
your shadow still falls in the afternoon
over mossy stones and on the rough walls,
a cool breeze makes the climbing vine tremble.
From now and on, your memory is living
as a focal point of my sorrows,
I make it brighter, brighter than a glowing fire
recollecting all experienced and
all imagined, all carnal desires that grew.
Heavy is the barren virtue, the shattered dreams
that broke off in the wind like a frozen leaf,
But I am here, still walking under the apple tree
feeling the perfumed scent from the hedge of lilac
I seize the happiness left for me
among the misty grass.
Febr. 2017 ©k.c.