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Clinging Hope

XXXI Days of Poetry - Day the Twelfth

Clinging Hope

She appeared, out of a story, 
a siren to steal my soul away. 
I could not speak as I saw her, 
exquisite beauty, born to shame 
Angels, struck me mute. I tried, 
vainly, to recover, but what use? 
The Kingdom's most skilled thief 
could not purloin as she captured
me. She spake her name. Mind so 
fogged, I could not grasp. Struggled 
for conversational pleasantries. 

I failed. 

All night long I watched her glide 
across the floor as if she danced.
Her grace and eloquence could 
inspire symphonies. I worked to 
gain the courage to speak. How
could I tell her she seared my 
mind's eye? How can I explain 
how my heart beats faster at her 
mere sight? How can I speak of 
that which there are no words? 

I cannot, so I struggle within my 
heart. I struggle within my soul. 
I struggle with what cannot be 
named. Through tears, sighs 
and clinging hope, 

I struggle on all the same. 

XXXI Days of Poetry (2016)

Read more Poetry, including previous year's "31 Days"

[ART - "Aspasia" Self-portrait by Marie-Geneviève Bouliard (1763-1825)]

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